Identity Theft
by lborgia88
Summary: A mission to a distant spaceport leaves everyone in G-Force wondering what's really going on...
1. Chapter 1

The spacecraft dropped out of time warp, though for no obvious reason. The closest planets belonged to distant stars that dotted the black void of space looming all around the small ship.

Inside the ship's bridge, a man pushed his dark hair back from his forehead and sighed, leaning forward onto the console as his eyes flicked over the instruments.

"We did it," he announced, relaxing back into his chair, hands behind his head, as he grinned.

"I don't think so!" replied his sole companion, glaring at him from the co-pilot's chair, "Where the hell are we, Barzok?"

She tossed her long blond hair haughtily, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the indignity of her attire –a baggy, painfully orange jumpsuit emblazoned with the words "Federation Detention Center #86: Inmate."

"Where we are, Hannah, is _somewhere_ where your ass isn't in a jail cell," said Barzok, no longer grinning, "So can the complaints and show a little gratitude, would you?"

"For stranding me in the middle of nowhere?" She was staring at her own instrument panels now. "I don't think so!"

"Do you see any sign of other ships?" said Barzok, not waiting for her answer, "No pursuit. I'm telling you, we lost 'em –a clean getaway!"

"Fine," said Hannah, folding her arms and glaring anew at him, "But we're _supposed_ to be at Spaceport 5, not here –wherever _here_ is- and I-"

The ship suddenly shook as if buffeted by a gust of wind, and a needle on one of the console's instruments flickered spasmodically.

"What's going on?" she said, her voice turning shriller, even as Barzok began calling up readouts on various small screens and frantically parsing them.

"Do I look like an astrophysicist?" he snapped, "Some kind of weird radiation, maybe. It could be screwing with the gyronic drive stabilizers…"

Yet even as he spoke, both the ship and the instrument's twitching needle were again becoming still.

For a second time, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, absently running one finger over his thin mustache.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when he'd have had a crack staff of techs, engineers, pilots –all of it!- to deal with crap like this. But then, there'd been a time when he'd been the head espionage agent and mastermind of Spectra's inter-galactic slave system.

But that was before the scheme to contaminate all of Earth's and other Federation planets' fresh water with salt had gone so badly awry, along with his plans for supplanting Zoltar…

His name was seriously mud with the Spectran leader now.

He glanced over at Hannah, who'd closed her eyes and appeared to be muttering to herself.

The hideous jumpsuit couldn't completely obliterate the sleek, lithe lines of her body or mask the innate elegance of her posture, even as she sat there, seething. He'd forgotten what an arrogant shrew she could be but he still vividly remembered her former days as his "Agent Hannah," working undercover at the Spaceport 5 disco. She'd gathered more covert intelligence data for him –by theft, extortion or seduction- than any ten other operatives combined.

That is, until her mission to get the formula for duplicating protein from common soil out of that deranged widower, Professor Starke, had gone so badly awry.

Now her name was mud too.

Yes, thought Barzok. He and Hannah, they belonged together now. She'd come around soon enough and realize that together they had a far better chance of pulling off a freelance espionage coup and using it to win back Zoltar's favor again. She'd come around as soon as it was clear he really had just rescued her from wasting away in a Federation prison.

It would be just like the good old days…

He sat up, shaking his head and fixing his eyes once again on the console.

"Spaceport 5 isn't too far from here, in normal space," he said, "But I didn't want to drop out of time warp _there_ ; I wanted first to make sure no Federation ships had managed to track and follow us, so I jumped us somewhere they'd never think to look."

He glanced over to see that she was looking at him, and that she wasn't frowning... much.

"You must know some basic navigation," he said, "Help me out here. The Carinae asteroid field is around here somewhere and my sub-warp autopilot is on the fritz. But as soon as we cross through it, we'll be outside of Federation jurisdiction, _and_ Spaceport 5 will be there waiting for us."

She smiled at him, at last. Could that be a sign of some of the "gratitude" he was hoping for?

Yeah, thought Barzok. Everything was going to work out just fine…

But before long he had other, less pleasant things to think about, though –like manually wending the ship's way through the dense array of everything from pebbles to planetoids that was the Carinae asteroid field.

He wasn't without experience here; in his younger days he'd done a stint as a smuggler of all sorts of illicit goodies –some of them humanoid- via the Syndicate of Autonomous Spaceports out here on the fringe of civilized space where both the Federation's and the Spectran Empire's spheres of control ended. That had often entailed surreptitious and evasive treks through this region of notoriously challenging piloting –where even autopilots failed- and on numerous occasions he'd shaken off pursuers that way.

But this time around it was more difficult than he ever remembered. Something seemed to have stirred up the asteroids; they were spinning and tumbling about more rapidly and unpredictably than he'd ever seen before. His ship wasn't that big; its hold could take about fifty slaves –standing room only- or a modest amount of cargo but it was the sole thing of value that he still possessed and he couldn't afford to repair it if he smashed it into a giant rock.

Just like he couldn't afford to repair the sub-warp autopilot. He _really_ needed to pull off a lucrative scam of some kind –a big one.

And soon.

"You're off course," announced Hannah, studying the radar screen with more intensity than actual comprehension, "Try to go more _that_ way."

She made a vague and not very helpful arm gesture to starboard.

But Barzok had more immediate concerns, like completing his circumvention of an asteroid that anywhere else would be called a _moon_ and-

 _What the hell was that?_

Hearing him gasp, Hannah looked up quickly from the radar screen and immediately did likewise.

Unthinkingly, by reflex, he cut power to the engines and reversed thrusters to bring his ship to a halt but he never once took his eyes from…

Whatever _it_ was.

What lay before them, slowly drifting in space amidst the asteroids was a spherical object composed entirely of a seamless crystalline substance that glowed and pulsed with faint, erratic swirls of bluish light. All over its surface, long and thin peaks of varying lengths jutted forth. Perhaps it was only a trick of the flickering light, but the translucent extrusions seemed to be slightly… fluid, extending and contracting.

Barzok wasn't sure how long he and Hannah merely gazed at it in suspenseful silence, waiting; in the midst of the asteroids, they couldn't remain stationary for long but time seemed to have stopped…

But the object merely continued to drift slowly.

Barzok prided himself on being a man who'd seen or heard it all, but he'd never seen –or heard of anyone else seeing- _anything_ like this.

It was beautiful, mysterious and utterly, utterly alien.

And _damn,_ thought Barzok, it had to be valuable. Whatever it was, surely there was money to be made here! Someone, somewhere, would pay handsomely, either to own it or to ransom it –he didn't much care which.

His eyes narrowed, with less awe now and more appraisal, as he concluded that it would probably _just_ fit inside his ship's main hold. His current cargo was little more than luggage and miscellanea, stashed in the hold's wall cabinets.

The object continued to drift slowly and serenely, oblivious to the collision course it was now on with an especially nastily pock-marked asteroid…

But Barzok noticed, and hastily snapped into action. His and Hannah's thoughts were as one here. He hadn't spoken a word but instantly she was finding and hitting the switches to bring the ship's tractor beam online while he verified that the door seal between the ship's cabin and hold was secure, and opened up the hold's exterior bay doors to the vacuum of space.

Regardless of what it was or where it had come from, it was _theirs_ now, and they busied themselves getting it maneuvered inside the ship.

As soon as the light above the door turned green, indicating that the hold was repressurized, Hannah was on her feet and moving.

"Hey!" said Barzok, "A little impatient, aren't we? Stay in your seat and navigate."

Hannah paused, looking back over one orange shoulder.

"I want to see it!" she said, a mercenary gleam in her eyes. "What do you think it is? What do think it's _worth?"_

Yes, they truly thought alike.

Barzok had to turn his full attention back to his piloting, and that wasn't something she could help him with. Hell, she was barely any use as a navigator, really. So he didn't answer and a few seconds later, she'd gone into the ship's hold, the door sealing behind her.

He continued to dodge and weave his ship through the asteroid field, occasionally craning his neck to get a look at the radar screen, and hoping he was heading in more or less the correct direction.

He hadn't realized just how tense and focused he'd been until -at last- he became aware that the field of rocky obstructions before him was thinning out…

He was nearly through to the other side and, more to the point, out of Federation Space. And no one could _possibly_ have followed them –they were safe. And best of all, there hovering in the distance was a gleaming object in the black, empty space, illuminated with powerful beacon lights and swarming with incoming and departing spacecraft.

It was Spaceport 5, and it was also freedom and opportunity for both him and Hannah.

It was the largest spaceport in the Syndicate and, like the others, existed in a neutral region of space that was devoid of any readily habitable planets. But nevertheless, it saw a _lot_ of action. It was a popular refueling center for trans-galactic freighters and for pilots and crews looking to shake off cabin fever with a little R &R as well as home for hundreds of people who had their reasons for not wanting citizenship elsewhere.

Beholden to neither the Federation nor the Spectran Empire, the "no questions asked, no questions answered" philosophy of its directorship with regard to cargos (even of the human variety), large amounts of dubiously acquired cash, outstanding arrest warrants in Federation space and the concept of extradition had long made the Syndicate's spaceports very appealing places for Barzok and like-minded denizens of the universe.

Hell, murder was about the only recognized crime in a Syndicate spaceport, and then only if you weren't discreet about it or were lacking in hush money. A lot of _very_ interesting deals went down in their lounges, private meeting rooms and ultra-secure vaults, safe from the prying eyes of governments and taxation entities. And a lot of intelligence and "top secret" data could be bought and sold or otherwise obtained in a spaceport. You just had to know how to play the game.

That had been Hannah's expertise. Using her cover as a space rock singer in the disco here, she'd used her wits and wiles to obtain countless juicy secrets and lucrative intelligence for Barzok's espionage network –secrets and intelligence on the Federation. And Zoltar had rewarded them so well for it.

"Had" being the key word here… Barzok sighed.

But then he remembered his new cargo and that brought a smile to his lips. Whatever that bizarre crystalline thing might be, he was convinced that there would be somebody at Spaceport 5 who would pay a lot of money for it.

Maybe he'd even be able to get a bidding war going…

This could be just the thing to get him and Hannah back in the game, and then maybe even back in Zoltar's favor somehow.

He chuckled, glancing over towards Hannah-

Oh right. Was she _still_ back there in the hold? Barzok wondered now what the hell she was doing.

He looked ahead, estimating that the ship would reach Spaceport 5's primary entry port in less than half an hour. Of course, there'd be a queue to get in, as usual. And a docking fee to pay too. In fact, he was going to need to rent a secure "garage" vault for the ship this time around. There was no way he could take the chance of anyone else discovering or stealing his mysterious new cargo from his ship in the main, communal docking area.

Doing some hasty mental calculations, he concluded he could just afford the likely fee –but not for too long. He'd have to get the word out about the… whatever it was, quickly. Subtly of course, and through the _right_ channels, but quickly.

The door from the hold opened behind him and Barzok glanced around the back of his chair.

He did a double take. Hannah had somehow found a change of clothes back there amongst the old luggage. Long gone was the baggy, orange prisoner's jumpsuit and in its stead she now wore a shimmery silver mini-dress that clung in all the right places. Barzok thought he remembered that dress from her disco days, and she looked as sultry now as she ever had then.

Clearly ready for action, ready to get back into the game.

"Looking good," he told her, with a smirk. She had a slightly vacant look in her eyes and she was gazing at the viewscreen, but his words seemed to jar her from her reverie.

"Spaceport 5," he told her, "Brings back memories, huh?"

"Yes," she said, her voice still lost in thought, though at least she looked at him, "I really can remember it all."

Now she was _really_ looking at him.

"So what have we found?" he asked her, as she walked towards him, still gazing intently, "Learn anything useful about that thing?"

"No," she said, "But that is business. I want to talk about having fun."

And she smoothly sat herself down right in his lap, reaching up to rest one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his own hand.

Barzok felt a warm glow throughout. For the first time in months, he really was certain that his fortunes had taken a turn. He had Hannah back; soon he'd be riding high again…

"You want me to help you find a purchaser for the object?" she asked, still stroking his neck.

He was trying not to stare _too_ obviously at her body that was so very close to his now.

"That's the plan," he told her, "We make a great team."

"I will help you," she replied, "From the disco. I want to go back to the disco."

"You were the best they ever had, baby," he told her, sincerely, "You'll be singing and dancing again in no time."

She was smiling at him.

"I want to have _all_ the fun that I have been missing out on," she said, her blue eyes aglow with anticipation.

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	2. Chapter 2

Keyop walked slowly across the lobby's shiny marble floor though all around him, harried-looking bureaucrats, diplomats, military personnel and business people from all over Federation Space, and even beyond, were striding about purposefully, clutching briefcases and portfolios and speaking rapidly into hand-held communicators.

Massive screens on the walls were adding to the visual and auditory chaos, displaying "Welcome to Earth" video clips featuring especially scenic vistas, orientation maps of the building's layout, schedules of events and meetings, and Federation News Network feeds.

No one gave him a second glance, but then, he was in his civvies and he looked like a mere kid, not like a member of G-Force.

He was on his way to Chief Anderson's office here at the Federation headquarters building on Earth. He'd spent the day in the city, specifically at the Natural Science Museum, as it was the opening weekend of a new exhibit of insects from all over the galaxy –some of them very rare!

No one else on the team had wanted to go with him. He shook his head, even as he kept on walking towards the elevators. Clearly, he thought, _they_ didn't want to have fun.

As far as Keyop knew, they were all still at Center Neptune. Probably sleeping, as they'd all just come off a mission on the planet Achernar –one that had entailed a hostage situation. Those were especially stressful.

The plan was that he would go back there tonight, catching a ride with Chief Anderson, who had told Keyop on the previous day that he would be finished his business in the city that night and returning to Center Neptune.

Keyop hadn't really been paying attention to the video screens, but when he caught the words "G-Force," he stopped walking and turned to look at the largest screen.

"We bring you now, a Federation News Network exclusive!" said a typically handsome news anchor, "Rare footage of an actual G-Force mission against our Spectran enemy, aaand an interview."

Another Federation propaganda vid, thought Keyop. One was released to the media about three times a year, their purpose being to raise the morale of the populace, even as the war with Spectra dragged on and taxation remained high, by showcasing the most famous and glamorously heroic –but also the most mysterious- wing of the Federation's military.

G-Force.

The footage cut to a city whose skyline Keyop instantly recognized, as he had just been there.

Eridanus City on the planet Achernar.

Keyop stared. Mark hadn't said anything about an interview with the FNN, and Keyop knew that he himself certainly hadn't spoken with anyone.

However, there on the cinema-sized screen was the Phoenix, soaring through Achernar's faintly purplish sky over Eridanus City, accompanied by that piece of heroic-sounding music that was practically G-Force's theme song.

Clearly, there had been someone standing out in the open in the city –contrary to Zark's assurances that the citizenry had evacuated to subterranean bomb shelters- and that someone had been carrying a long-range video camera.

As the Phoenix continued to soar, a narrator began intoning dramatically.

"Zoltar's evil forces from the enemy planet Spectra, in a dastardly plot to terrorize the peaceful people of Achernar into ceding their moon to Spectra, for use as a base for further hostile encroachments into Federation Space, raided the capital, Eridanus City, with a menacing new attack ship and took the entire Achernar government as hostages!"

Keyop knew now that it had actually all begun as an ostensibly legitimate, but secret, negotiation conference in Eridanus City which the Spectrans had finagled by implying they'd pay certain key leaders in Achernar's government large sums of money for the use of the planet's moon.

But the narrator here wasn't saying anything about _that._

Actually, thought Keyop, it was clear now that the Spectrans had been intending all along to use hostile means if the "key leaders" couldn't get them what they wanted. When word of what was afoot leaked out to the rest of the government, there'd been a massive cry of outrage.

And that was when the Spectrans had raided their Legislation building and had forced all one hundred of the planetary senators, at gunpoint, onto their ship.

Which, for some reason, had been designed to look like a wolf.

Spectrans, conceded Keyop, shaking his head, were pretty creative with their spaceship designs. A new animal every time...

Now the footage of the Phoenix soaring changed to that of the Spectrans' ship flying through the sky. Even the music took an accompanying turn for the sinister.

He glanced around the lobby then. Everyone –bureaucrats, diplomats, military personnel and business people – had stopped all their hasty and self-important walking-and-talking. Everyone's attention was riveted to the screen.

"But no sooner had Galaxy Security been apprised of this newest Spectran threat," continued the narrator, "The mighty G-Force was alerted and speeding through space, using the most powerful time warp technology to reach Achernar, before the army of terrible Spectrans had any chance to harm the prisoners aboard their Horrible Hyena!"

 _Hyena?_ Keyop blurted out "It's… a wolf!" before he could help himself, but no one was paying any attention to him.

Everyone was watching the footage of the Phoenix now sweeping past the "Horrible Hyena," which had taken to the air as soon as the Phoenix had arrived at Achernar. The Phoenix was coming around again to face it head on. The music was once again the familiar, triumphant "G-Force theme."

The Horrible Hyena, on screen, was now firing missiles at the Phoenix. Tiny had been able dodge them though, or at least, dodge _most_ of them.

The footage here, however, wasn't showing the hits they'd taken.

Cheers of "Go G-Force!" and "Kick their Spectran asses!" and other similar sentiments surrounded Keyop as he stood watching.

He and the others had been concerned, Keyop recalled, that it was going to try to leave Achernar and use time warp to take the hostages back to Spectra.

Jason had wanted to hit back at the Spectran ship with missiles. He'd insisted he could target them carefully enough –aiming at paws, ears and tail- to force the ship to land but without destroying it or its captive occupants. Once it was on the ground, he'd said, all five of them could storm it from multiple directions –some of them very obviously (a role he'd clearly had in mind for himself) and some of them covertly, to locate and liberate the hostages. They'd been told by Chief Anderson in their briefing that this Spectran "delegation" was relatively small –only about 25 goons.

Mark had quickly overruled him. Instead, he'd taken Princess with him and they'd gone up to the dome. From there, they'd been able to soar to the Horrible Hyena and land near a vent opening on its back.

And that was what Keyop and everyone else in the lobby was watching now on the giant screen. Two "birds" of white, soaring with wings spread –showing nicely as bright red against the pale purplish sky- and swooping down upon the enemy that hadn't even seen them coming.

The images of Mark and Princess side-by-side in flight were becoming quite close-up. The person on the ground with the video camera must have had a very good zoom lens.

"That's the Commander, he always leads the charge personally -never stays on the Phoenix," declared a man standing near Keyop. "And _the Swan_ ," he added, speaking to a companion standing next to him.

"Yeah, I've seen the official photos of her," replied the other man, "Can't see most of her face, of course, but her body…"

He made a whistle of appreciation. Keyop scowled.

"You gotta love that skirt she wears," agreed the first man, "Look at her go –she's amazing! Girl of my dreams…"

"And of the Commander's dreams, I've heard," added a nearby woman, sighing dreamily, "Lucky girl."

"Fearless, invincible!" the narrator was saying now, "The Commander of G-Force and his lady comrade-in-war invaded the Horrible Hyena, and they brought it down –without any harm to the hostages –a classic example of the Commander's superior strategic skills!"

The footage changed, showing the Spectran ship flying feebly and listing very badly to one side, sinking towards the ground while the Phoenix tailed it closely.

Keyop was the only person in the lobby who knew just how frantic and nerve-wracking it had been for Mark and Princess, inside that ship, having to locate the hostages and bring down the ship –and all while remaining undetected by the Spectran crew, lest they begin harming the hostages in retaliation. He alone also knew that in this case, the "strategic skill" had been more Princess' than Mark's.

Without being discovered, they'd quickly moved about the ship and had determined in which area the hostages were being held. The problem had been figuring out a way to bring down the ship without injuring or killing any of them. Princess had realized the ship's design involved multiple, smaller fuel tanks spread throughout its body and she'd been both afraid to use explosives, with so much fuel everywhere, and unable to create any significant fuel leak.

Tiny had been warning them, over their communicators, that the Spectran ship was climbing, nearly vertically, and that it was clearly trying to leave the planet. There was no way they could have gotten 100 hostages off the ship unless it was on the ground. Mark had been _that_ close to attempting a direct attack on the ship's bridge, though with just him and Princess, it would have been both a risky move and one that would almost certainly have alerted the potentially vengeful Spectrans guarding the hostages that their ship was under immediate assault.

It had been Princess who'd managed to access and then disable the ship's stabilization and guidance systems by pulling off a wall panel in a utility conduit and working directly with the wiring itself, rendering the ship structurally sound but virtually unflyable, and forcing it back down to the ground. While she'd been doing that, Mark had been able to surprise and take down the guards monitoring the hostages in the belly of the ship.

The footage changed yet again, and now Keyop and everyone else in the Federation Headquarters' lobby was watching the Horrible Hyena, lying tipped to one side in one of Eridanus City's wide streets. On its belly, a small section of the exterior suddenly shattered in a small explosion –the work of Princess' demolition expertise, Keyop knew.

Amidst the smoke, Princess appeared in the hole thus created in the wolf ship. She was running, at the head of a mass of Achernar senators, all running in blind panic, but following her lead away from the ship and to safety beneath the Phoenix, which had landed some distance away.

"Once again, a victory by G-Force over the forces of evil," enthused the narrator, "Thanks to the courage and talent of the G-Force commander, another planet's citizens can rest easy tonight, all the people of Achernar secure in the knowledge that the Federation is protecting them through valiance and vigilance of… _G-Force!"_

Keyop gazed around the lobby and more cheers and applause sounded throughout the lobby.

Mark had been the last to emerge, and whoever had been behind the video camera that had captured all this footage, they had zoomed in on him just at that moment when he paused briefly, framed by the smoke and the jagged edges of the hole, his cape flowing dramatically behind him as the narrator said _"G-Force!"_ Then he too ran to join Princess and the senators.

Keyop knew exactly why they'd been in such desperate haste. All too often, defeated Spectran ships self-destructed, and this one had been no different. Within seconds of the hostages' rescue, the Horrible Hyena had exploded.

"Let this serve as yet another message to Spectra that their unlawful and menacing attacks upon Federation planets will never succeed –not as long we have G-Force to defend us!"

"Not… easy as it looks," whispered Keyop to himself.

But the narrator wasn't finished yet.

"Not only were we able to bring you this rare and exclusive footage of a G-Force mission, but our FNN reporter in Eridanus City that day was able to briefly speak with G-Force!"

And suddenly there was Mark and Princess, up close and personal and still standing beneath the Phoenix, though naturally their tinted visors' gleam concealed their faces. In the background were the senators, milling around and muttering rapidly to each other, but also looking very relieved and happy.

Ah, thought Keyop. So _this_ is the "interview" the narrator had mentioned at the beginning of the vid… He, Jason and Tiny had still been on board the Phoenix when this had taken place.

"Commander," said a woman with a large "FNN" badge on her jacket, "On behalf of all the people of the Federation, let me thank you for another job well done."

"While it's our duty," Mark replied, "We're honored to be able to serve the Federation and its citizens. We work for you, after all. But any day now -mark my words- Zoltar _will_ realize that the Federation stands united and strong, and he _will_ cease his hostilities against us!"

Keyop knew a memorized line when he heard one, though Mark had delivered it well. It dawned on Keyop then that someone at Galaxy Security must have alerted the FNN in Eridanus City to ignore the orders to take to the subterranean bomb shelters and to instead be ready to film as much as they could of G-Force's battle with the Spectran ship.

And clearly someone had prepped Mark on what to say should an "interview" situation ever arise.

"So tell me, Commander," continued the reporter, with a knowing smile, "Do you and the Swan have a _special_ celebration planned?"

Princess' shoulders stiffened, barely perceptibly, but Keyop could see it in the sudden twitch of her cape's wings.

Beneath Mark's blue visor, his mouth formed a smile that was not quite a smirk and he said, "She is indeed a special part of G-Force, and frankly, I couldn't do it without her," and then he put an arm around her shoulders. After a second, Princess smiled too.

"Well, don't let me keep you!" replied the reporter, with a wink, "Once again, on behalf of us all, thank you!"

And the footage changed one last time, but it was no longer Eridanus City or Achernar –now Keyop was seeing President Kane and Chief Anderson. In fact, thought Keyop, the backdrop behind them looked like Chief Anderson's office right here at Federation Headquarters. This part of the vid must have only been filmed yesterday or today.

"I'm happy to report," President Kane was saying, "That all the Achernar senators are safely at home with their families, and that their planet's moon is now and always will be safe from Spectra. From myself and Security Chief Anderson, thank you, G-Force!"

Like always, the vid's closing scene was of the Phoenix speeding through the sky, changing into the "fiery Phoenix" –their most deadly and visually-impressive attack, though not one they had actually used in _this_ mission.

And the vid was over. The screen now switched back to generic news feeds and the crowds around Keyop began moving again, babbling cheerfully about G-Force, Achernar and the imminent and inevitable defeat of Zoltar's ambitions.

Keyop was feeling distinctly less cheerful. He saw imminent trouble brewing, albeit of another kind. The last four such propaganda vids had been increasingly focused on Mark and Princess, but this one blatantly showcased them to the point that the rest of G-Force hardly seemed to exist. He sighed. There was no denying that they were attractively photogenic, and never more so than when they stood side by side in their matching pristine white with red under-wings, looking every bit like wholesome and clean-cut heroes. There was no denying that the public, captivated by the apparent glamorous adventure of G-Force's exploits, tended to focus their interest on the two of them, "the Commander and his lady comrade-in-war."

He knew full well why he was kept out of sight in the propaganda vids –his small size elicited too many concerned and pointed questions about his age and the suitability of one so young being on a combat team. Tiny, he'd long resigned himself to being the stay-behind-guy on board the Phoenix and… well, his shape was less… photogenic.

It was Jason who was going to be ticked.

Keyop decided that there was nothing to be gained from worrying about looming intra-Team dissension now, and realized that he needed to get up to Chief Anderson's office. If he were late, there was a chance the Chief might forget their transportation arrangement and leave for Center Neptune without him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keyop noticed that one man, who had been watching the vid intently but silently, was still just standing there and staring at the screen, though he seemed to be deep in thought. He was blandly middle-aged, dressed in bland, dark clothes, with smooth silver hair and he didn't seem to quite fit any of the standard bureaucrat, diplomat, military personnel or businessman categories.

"Anderson," the man murmured to himself, "Yes, that was his name."

Keyop was curious, and would have mentioned the man to Chief Anderson, but when he reached the upper level of the headquarters, where Chief Anderson's office was located, one of the Chief's administrative assistants stared at him blankly when he announced that he was there to meet up the Chief.

"Oh, he's not here –he never came in at all today."

This was news to Keyop!

"Where did… he go?" stuttered Keyop, realizing he might well have to make new transportation plans.

"I don't know," the assistant conceded, frowning, "But he sure left on short notice –probably last night! He had a full agenda today and I had to do a _lot_ of last minute rescheduling. And he didn't say when he's coming back."

"Must have… been important," Keyop said, frowning in turn. Skipping out without warning was sure not the Chief's usual style.

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Tiny stared up at the Phoenix, his pride and joy, as it sat parked in its maintenance and repair bay at Center Neptune. As ever, the team of techs and mechanics had done a good job, quickly. The ship's exterior was shining and pristine once again. You couldn't tell where that wolf ship's missiles had struck it. Indeed, it looked like it had never sustained a scratch in its entire existence. They sure did a great job, he thought, keeping it always looking so perfect despite all the abuse it sustained.

He didn't see any of the people responsible for the great job, though, as he looked around. They were probably all inside the ship now, he assumed, running systems checks to ensure there was no _internal_ damage remaining.

Tiny decided he would go on board himself. He was curious to know if everything was okay with his ship –in his mind, the Phoenix was _his_ ship.

And it was something to do, and a chance to yak for a bit with the mechanics and techs. If he want back to the Ready Room, he'd just be alone and bored. Upon their return to Center Neptune, Keyop had immediately gone off to the city to see some bug exhibit at a museum, and now Mark, Jason and Princess were gone too.

They'd barely even had a chance to sleep; early yesterday morning Chief Anderson had suddenly sent the three of them off on an undercover mission to Spaceport 5 –so undercover, he'd instructed them not to use the Phoenix to get there, but rather to take passage on a civilian transport ship.

At least the Phoenix got to rest, thought Tiny. He felt a brief pang of sympathy for Mark, Princess and Jason, before he recalled that Spaceport 5 was reputed to be a pretty wild and racy scene. Maybe he should be envying them instead.

"As usual," he murmured, "I'm the stay-behind guy."

But he smiled to himself. At least he was a well-rested guy, and he was with his Phoenix…

Time to see what was going on inside her…

Soon, he was strolling down one of the Phoenix's corridors, en route to the bridge and gazing all around.

He encountered a guy whose uniform indicated he was a mechanic. Yet Tiny couldn't remember ever having seen him before, though the guy's silvery hair suggested he wasn't young.

"Whoa, there," said Tiny, realizing what was behind the panels that the guy was attempting to remove. "No way are you qualified to be inspecting those systems. Go check your assignment roster again," he added, keeping his voice good-natured

"I will do that," said the guy, walking away.

Tiny shook his head. Clearly a newbie. Well, he'd soon learn that only a few of the techs were qualified to work on those components that were part of the "Fiery Phoenix," and that curiosity about one of the ship's most famous though mysterious systems was still no excuse for poking around.

"Hey, Tiny," called out one of the techs, looking up from one of the consoles on the bridge as Tiny came walking in, "There's a new G-Force vid –you seen it yet?"

"No," said Tiny, sitting himself down in his chair, adding "Say, am I in this one?"

He slouched comfortably, though it always felt a bit odd to be wearing his civvies in here.

"What do you think?" asked another tech, walking into the bridge now.

Tiny shook his head in mock despair. "Tell me they at least featured the Phoenix."

"Oh yeah, she looked great. And they didn't show any of the missile hits she took from that wolf ship."

"No, no," laughed the other tech, "It was a _hyena_."

Tiny was surprised at this.

"They had footage from the Achernar mission?" he mused, "Wow, they didn't waste any time getting that out, then, did they?"

"Gotta keep morale up, don't you know," said the first tech, "And it sure makes Mark and Princess look good."

No doubt, reflected Tiny. In fact, he thought, if the vid was all about the Achernar mission, then they would be the _only_ ones featured in it.

Again.

He sighed. Jason was going to be pissed.

He was rather glad he wasn't en route to Spaceport 5.

0000000000


	3. Chapter 3

Now this was _something,_ thought Jason, letting his eyes wander around the disco at Spaceport 5 while he endeavored to project the cool, blasé demeanor of one with much experience in such louche and edgy locales. The music was pulsating beneath the ethereal voice of a tall, blond singer, colored lights and strobes were spinning and flashing, attractive and exotically-attired people were dancing, large quantities of booze were being imbibed -along with various substances that were certainly illegal in Federation Space, and sinister-and-slick types were gathered in mysterious, low-voiced conclaves at small lounges tucked away in dimly lit alcoves.

Dozens of people were moving around him, getting drinks, laughing and talking with faces close to hear over the music or –like him- surveying the scene.

Jason took another small sip of his drink –Betelguesian brandy with some _serious_ kick- and adjusted his slouching posture, one elbow on the bar, to look even more disreputable and, hopefully, on the make for the next shady deal to be had.

That was why they were here, after all. That was why he was wearing a long-sleeved black silk shirt with most of the buttons undone instead of his #2 tee, and why he was trying to look shifty and criminal.

The Chief said that Federation Intelligence had picked up a tip from one of its many shadowy informants that someone at Spaceport 5 reputedly had something to sell that the Federation would _really_ want to have, though they'd just as easily sell it to the Spectrans or whoever met their price…

And their asking price was _very_ high.

"Go there and find out what it is and who has it –then report to me immediately," the Chief had told them. This sort of work was not exactly in their usual "crush the Spectran invaders" line, but there'd been anxiety lurking in the Chief's eyes.

Clearly this was more critical than it seemed. Clearly, there was something he wasn't telling them…

Jason let his lip curl in a slight sneer, mostly for effect, though it went well with his current mood, just as the cultivated slouch suited his current sleep deficiency. He hadn't even had a chance to shave his face before leaving Center Neptune, though maybe that would enhance his façade here. And with so many missions lately, he probably also had that pallor common to those who spent most of their time in space.

He took another small sip of the brandy, his sneer shifting to a scowl.

They'd seen the latest Federation G-Force vid while on the transport ship that had brought them here. He was still seething.

"'Always five, acting as one,'" he muttered, "What a crock. It's more like the other way around…"

Maybe if he hadn't been so damned tired, he could be more forgiving. Hell, he respected Mark's leadership abilities, but there were days when being the #2 who had to take orders and who got overruled _really_ started to eat at him, and this was one of them. And they were getting more frequent.

Some days it was just _so damned frustrating…_

He knew damned well that Mark didn't make the propaganda vids that gave him all the limelight, but he couldn't shake the resentful feeling that Mark could have done something about that –if he really wanted to.

The war with Spectra was dragging on, no end in sight. But when would he get his chance to really prove himself? Get his own chance to shine?

Hell, if we'd followed _my_ plan for defeating the wolf ship, he thought, we'd have still won and we'd _all_ have been in the vid…

He cast covert glances all around at the people in his vicinity. No sneaky underworld types were approaching him yet, or trying to make eye contact.

Instead, his gaze fell on Mark, down at the far end of the long, curving bar.

He smirked. Mark was _trying_ –he was wearing a dark purple shirt similar to Jason's- but neatly pressed and properly buttoned. His posture was firm and straight as he sat on a bar stool, reeking of wholesome athleticism, and his air as he gazed around the disco was one of "on duty," rather than "on the make."

"And please tell me that's not _ginger ale_ he's drinking…" he muttered.

Maybe Mark could fool a geek scientist like Dr. Gregg into believing he was up to no good, but for undercover work at a place like Spaceport 5, he seemed hopeless. And Mark should have known what to expect as _he_ had been here once before, as part of a flight exercise with some of the Rigan Red Rangers. As it was, no one here now was going to talk to someone so… _upright._

But Princess though –she was another story.

She was standing with her back to the bar, just far enough away from Mark to suggest that she wasn't necessarily with him, and she looked _amazing._

Not that she didn't always look gorgeous, thought Jason, but tonight she had on a deep red satin dress that slipped seductively off one shoulder and was short enough to display her flawless legs, all the way down to the strappy black stiletto-heeled sandals on her feet. Her make-up was different too –smoky eye shadow and deep red lipstick that matched her dress.

Every man in the place tonight was going to want to talk to her. She might have the best chance of all of them to learn something useful here. Hell, Jason could almost believe that any man who stood close to her tonight and gazed into her emerald eyes, would start babbling all his secrets and dreams…

Including Jason himself.

Not that it would do him a damned bit of good.

Princess was casting a warm, hungry gaze all around the room. She loved music and loved to dance, and now she was far from the sheltered environs of Center Neptune and in one of the most decadently famous discos in the galaxy –a place she'd only ever read about in magazines- and she was dressed to kill. She was gazing wistfully at all the brightly-dressed and glittery people on the dance floor, swaying and moving to the hypnotic rhythm of the music, smiling. Young, alive and so very free…

She belonged out there, not sitting at the bar, merely watching. She could _own_ the place tonight.

But, Jason then thought, with dawning realization _-she honestly didn't know that._ For all her confident power and lethal skill as a member of G-Force, she really didn't seem to know what power she could wield as a woman.

Hadn't Mark let her know?

What a selfish idiot, thought Jason witheringly, feeling that all-too-familiar resentment simmering within him again as he lifted his glass to his mouth and cast a glare down the bar towards their Commander.

All across Federation space, everyone swooned at the romance of the "G-Force Commander and his Swan," every time one of those damned propaganda vids got released. That was the façade, but now Jason found himself pondering the reality, in a whole new light.

Sure, he flirts with her, pays her compliments, but he's keeping her on the shelf. He's taking her for granted…

That had to be why she'd flinched when the reporter had asked her if she and the Commander had a "special celebration" planned –because while everyone in the galaxy would assume it, she knew that they didn't.

Hell, he'd assumed it too.

But now he really had to wonder, as he watched Princess, who seemed to be quite studiously _not_ looking at Mark. Was that just part of her cover tonight, or was there more to it?

Could she possibly be… frustrated too?

Jason rubbed his eyes, his shoulders moving from slouch to droop. He was so very tired. Hell, he was probably hallucinating. He really shouldn't be drinking the brandy. He sighed. It was putting dangerous and crazy notions into his head.

Princess and Mark were in love. Everyone knew that. Case closed.

He looked away from them, away from the bar, and cast his gaze back out into the room at large. They were supposed to be finding _someone_ trying to sell a very interesting _something._

Earlier, the three of them had rented rooms for the night at the spaceport's hotel when they'd arrived and the sooner they got the job done here, the sooner he could go back to his room and damned well get some sleep.

"Haven't seen you around here before," remarked a male voice. Jason turned and saw that a man with dark hair, wearing a shiny suit, had sidled up behind him unnoticed while he'd been brooding about Princess and Mark.

"What brings you to Spaceport 5?" he added in a casual, just-making-small-talk manner, leaning on the bar.

Jason quickly sized the man up. He seemed vaguely familiar somehow. He looked seedy for sure, yet also reminded Jason of some used car salesmen he'd encountered in his time. Yes, he looked like a man who had something he wanted to sell…

"Heard there was something… _interesting_ for sale here," said Jason, watching the man closely for his reaction.

While they were talking, the music changed, dropping a notch or two in volume, and now Jason knew why. The tall, blond singer was on a break, making her way across the dance floor towards the bar area.

"Did you now?" he replied, running one finger across his thin mustache, "Around here, _interesting_ things can cost a lot of money…"

"So I hear. Not a problem," said Jason, "I have an _interested_ friend, with a _lot_ of money."

"Perhaps we should discuss this _friend_ of yours," said the man, "Somewhere a little more… private." He gestured with his head to the far side of room, where there were couches around low tables in dark alcoves.

"Yes," said Jason, but his attention was now on the blond singer. So was the man's. She was wearing a short, silvery dress and the smooth strides of her very long legs were bringing her straight towards Jason and his new acquaintance.

The plot thickens, thought Jason, wondering what her part in all this could be. Another person _interested_ in whatever this guy had to sell?

But she wasn't looking at them anymore. Something at the far end of the bar had caught her attention and she diverted in that direction.

Now she was walking straight towards Mark, a distinct look of recognition on her face. Princess had noted this too and was appraising her curiously, a faint "Do I know you?" frown between her eyes. A strange expression flickered across Mark's face as he saw her approaching and it took Jason a moment to realize what it was.

Panic.

What was _this_ all about? Jason started moving surreptitiously towards the far end of the bar –he sure wanted to be able to hear any words exchanged! And the dark haired man accompanied him.

"I know _you,"_ cooed the blond singer, smiling warmly as she walked right up to Mark.

"Um, I think you're mistaking me for someone else," said Mark, trying for friendly politeness but looking more like a deer in the headlights, about to be hit…

"Oh, no mistake," she said, "I remember you vividly… _Mark."_

Mark swallowed, but Jason felt his own mouth widening in a grin. He took another sip of his brandy.

"We had such a _fun_ night together here," she purred, leaning her head toward his. She put a hand on each of his knees, the bright pink of her nails stark against the white denim of his jeans, pushing his legs apart and moving herself between them.

Jason nearly choked. Damn, she came on strong!

And "a _fun_ night"? Again, he recalled that Mark had been to Spaceport 5 once before, maybe a year ago.

It took all the self-control he possessed not to start laughing out loud. He'd never seen Mark so utterly discomfited and at a loss for what to say or do.

Well, he seemed to be trying now to push her hands off his legs while sliding further back on his stool but he had no room to escape in that direction, with the bar at his back, and her grip merely tightened as she stared at him with wide, fascinated eyes.

"Yes, you had such a beautiful body," she said, "And so eager." Her hands slid up his thighs…

Mark abruptly flung himself sideways, off the stool and away from her. She looked baffled at his reaction – and Jason could well believe a woman with her looks didn't get too many rejections.

"Aren't you supposed to be in _prison?"_ demanded Mark, apparently able to speak again.

" _Agent Hannah?"_ said a new voice. It was Princess.

Oh my God, thought Jason. _Princess._ And she'd just witnessed the whole scene too!

He turned his head to glance at her. Her face was white but cheeks flushed angry pink and her eyes glittered… She blinked, as if to hold back tears.

Jason's thoughts were spinning, but they clicked into place when he recalled a stack of photos the Chief had once shown them at a briefing… for that mission at the prison, with Professor Starke. Mark had recognized one photo as "the space rock singer at the Spaceport 5 disco," and the Chief had told them she was also "Spectra special agent: code name Hannah."

 _Mark had once spent a "fun" night with a woman who, as it turned out, had been "special agent" for Spectra?_

And to think, thought Jason, _I'm_ the one who gets all the lectures about staying away from women who might be Spectran agents!

Mark must have been freaking out inwardly when the Chief had explained who the singer really was, but he'd hidden it well. If he'd confessed all at the time, the Chief would have had his head over the possible security breaches that could have resulted from such an… indiscretion! And Princess would have…

She would have looked a lot like she was looking right now -very hurt and very angry.

Everyone in the vicinity, with no attempt at subtlety, was watching the three of them now and enjoying the drama.

But suddenly Jason's dark-haired acquaintance, who'd been standing behind him all this time, stepped forward and approached Hannah.

"Come now, my dear," he said smoothly, taking Hannah's arm in his and drawing her away from Mark, "Whatever you and this man had in the past, it clearly belongs in the past."

She allowed herself to be thus shepherded back towards the other end of the bar, though not without casting one look back at Mark, or rather oddly, a glance back at Mark's white jeans.

Mark had closed his eyes, no doubt trying to rally himself to face whatever Princess was about to say to him. She was closing in on him; all her "cover" pretense of not knowing who he was had been abandoned now.

Jason was staring.

He'd not, he realized, ever seen her looking so hurt or angry. Not emotions he'd ever wish on her. But…

Maybe it was partly the satin sheen of her deep red dress, the darker shadow ringing her large green eyes, but had also never seen her looking so very alive, passionate, dangerous.

 _Wow._

A small part of his mind recalled the thoughts he'd been having earlier. He'd been wondering when he would ever get his chance to shine. He'd been thinking about G-Force then, but…

If she was as furious with Mark as she appeared to be, maybe he could possibly get a chance of a different kind.

A chance with Princess.

A tug on his sleeve startled him back to reality. He turned, and it was the dark-haired man.

"Come on," he said to Jason, gesturing towards the far end of the bar, where Hannah was standing now, waiting for them, "Sorry about this little delay, but you and I have some business to discuss, no?"

Of course, thought Jason, the man had no way of knowing that he was here with Mark or Princess. As far as the man knew, Jason was a solo unit, interested in what he had to sell.

Jason sighed to himself, but realized it was time to concentrate on the job at hand –and things had just gotten a whole lot more interesting, now that he knew this guy consorted with Spectran agents. He cast one last glance back at Mark and Princess, and saw her stalking off towards the doors that led out of the disco, towards the hotel.

Mark was watching her go, but making no attempt to follow her, and he couldn't see Mark's face.

The dark-haired man and Jason maneuvered their way through the cluster of people lining the bar, towards Hannah. The guy, Jason noted, hadn't provided any name, and Jason saw no reason why he should offer one either.

"Found us a possible buyer," he told Hannah, nodding towards Jason.

Ah, so she wasn't an interested buyer herself, Jason realized –rather she was this guy's partner.

Hannah's eyes swept up and down his body, and she was liking what she saw.

"Very nice to meet you," she said, standing so close to him that her shoulder was against his. She slid her arm around his waist and her hand came to a rest on his hip.

She really was the touchy-feely sort, wasn't she?

If he didn't know anything about her, Jason admitted to himself, he'd find her attentions a whole lot more enjoyable. She _was_ beautiful, in her way.

But as it was, he needed to play along if he was going to learn anything about what these two had to sell and if it was whatever Chief Anderson had sent them here to investigate.

"I want to see it," said Jason bluntly, looking at the man, "After that, we can talk price."

"Naturally," he concurred, "There'd be no paperwork of any kind –dealing with any import duties or… smuggling would be solely your problem. And if we reach an agreement, are you amenable to an escrow transaction arranged through this Spaceport's bank?"

In other words, thought Jason, completely private. Spaceport banks were famously close-mouthed about all their clients' activities.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he replied. Hannah was stroking his hip with her hand, but Jason realized that all he wanted to do now was get away from her and get out of this place just as soon as he could. It had been a long day, and he'd seen more than enough for one night.

He was just so… tired. He looked down the bar and saw no sign of Mark. He must have already left.

I'm not even going to try to talk to him tonight, thought Jason. I can fill him in on what I've found out in the morning.

"Be in the café at noon, tomorrow," the man told him. "We'll be able to arrange a 'peek' for you."

0000000000

"And Zyrian swamp beetles… _huge,"_ said Keyop, gesturing with his hands for emphasis, "Plus… glow in the dark."

Tiny glanced over at Keyop, smiling, though he was more than a little tired of hearing descriptions of what he had "missed out on," by not accompanying Keyop to the bug exhibit.

Keyop was enjoying a rare opportunity to sit in Mark's chair on the bridge of the Phoenix. But then, it wasn't like they were going anywhere any time too soon. Mark, Jason and Princess were still at Spaceport 5. Chief Anderson had gone off somewhere too, apparently, but no one had thought to inform Tiny or Keyop exactly where.

Tiny was finished all his engine diagnostics now. He looked happily at the results coming up on his console's screen –everything on the Phoenix was in tip-top shape and working perfectly.

Just in time for another mission, no doubt, to wreck it all up again, thought Tiny. Well, he would try not to think about that any sooner than he had to…

Somebody was walking onto the bridge.

Tiny and Keyop both turned in their chairs and stared in surprise.

It was President Kane.

"I require transportation," he said, "To the Carinae asteroid field. And I am in a hurry."

Tiny and Keyop exchanged bewildered looks before staring again at the Federation's top official.

"Time is of the essence," he continued, "It is a… top secret matter."

Well, concluded Tiny, collecting his thoughts. Who was he to argue with the President of the Federation?

And most interestingly, the Carinae asteroid field wasn't all that far from where Mark, Jason and Princess were, at Spaceport 5.

He glanced at Keyop, who was clearly thinking the same thing.

"We'll just clear our departure with Zark, and-"

"I have already taken care of that," said President Kane, "Let us depart now."

He sat himself down in the chair that Princess usually occupied and looked at them expectantly.

There are worse things than high-end chauffer duty, reflected Tiny, and a jaunt to and from the Carinae asteroid field would provide a nice, safe test run for the Phoenix's newly retuned engines…

He glanced down at his civvies. Really, transporting a dignitary like President Kane called for more formal attire. With another glance at Keyop, they both raised their arms…

"Transmute!"

And they were in their G-Force uniforms.

President Kane was staring at them in fascination. I guess, thought Tiny, he's never seen any of us do that before, or at least not at this close range.

"Sit tight," he told the President, as he began firing up the engines, "And don't touch anything!"

"I am _quite_ experienced with space travel… Number Five," replied Kane blandly.

Had he placed a little extra emphasis there on the "Five"?

Abashed, Tiny turned his full attention to guiding the Phoenix out of Center Neptune…

Onward, to the Carinae asteroid field!

0000000000


	4. Chapter 4

Jason turned slightly in his bed, pulling the pillow into a better position. His hotel bed was soft, the room filled with a soothing, velvety dark silence. He stretched his legs, enjoying the smooth feel of the silky sheets against them.

Nothing but the best here at Spaceport 5… This sure beat his quarters at the Ready Room, and his trailer. And it had felt so goood to finally get some real sleep…

So then why was he awake now?

And then he heard the soft tap on his door, a quiet voice.

"Are you in there? It's me?"

Mystery solved then.

Wait just a second - _was that Princess?_

Jason sat up suddenly, all the events of the evening's drama now rushing back into his mind…

Princess, here? She'd… come to him? She _never_ did that. He felt his breath catch.

What c ould this mean…

He hastily felt around on the night table for the remote, then used it to adjust the room from blackness to soft, grey shadows. The door, he had keyed it to his own voice.

"Open," he said.

And in she came. She said nothing; she only closed the door behind her and came over to the bed. She sat down, her face only inches from his, and gazed into his eyes.

Though she was still wearing the red dress, her stiletto sandals were gone, as was the dramatic make-up.

But she was even more beautiful this way, more real, more Princess. Her emerald eyes had never seemed so entrancing, her face so suffused with passion. She reached out, just her hand on his forearm, but with her touch, something passed between them. An understanding, as if he'd just felt a glimpse of her thoughts made tangible.

He was finding it hard to keep his breathing steady, and was now very aware that, beneath the sheets, he wasn't wearing anything.

Her lovely face, delicate softness, was mere inches from his, framed with the lush darkness of her hair. He could feel her breath; feel the warmth from her skin, so pale she seemed almost luminous in the faint grey light. He could see the swell of her breasts beneath the satin of her dress, that still slipped enticingly off her shoulder…

His heart was pounding.

"Make me feel," she whispered, "Everything I've missed. Make me feel alive…"

A torrent of thoughts flickered through Jason's mind. This was wrong -she was Mark's girl… Or was she? She'd come here herself, after all. She wasn't drunk… And didn't _she_ have the final say in the matter?

A chance. God help him, this was his chance… He could never live with himself if he let it go.

Tonight, _hers_ was the voice he'd obey.

He kissed her, pulling her into his arms.

0000000000

Mark sat up in bed, fumbling for the remote on his night table and bringing the light up to a dim level, enough to see but no more. He was so very tired but real sleep just wasn't happening. He'd been tossing and turning, dozing fitfully, and now he was ready to give it up as a lost cause.

 _Damn it_ –He'd never wanted to come back to this Spaceport!

He was miserable, his thoughts in turmoil. There was a large viewscreen on the wall, with a sound system. He could try to distract himself by watching a film, or listening to music…

It wouldn't do any good. The only thing that could possibly ease his despair would be talking to Princess, _explaining._ But it was the middle of what passed for night here.

And the look on her face when she'd stormed out of the disco… As miserable as he was, the tactical side of his mind told him that waiting –giving her time to calm down- could only benefit his plight.

He clutched his head with both hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

 _Stupid,_ he berated himself, _stupid and weak._

Princess was the only girl for him -the only girl that mattered, and the only girl he loved

He thought she knew that. He _tried,_ as often as he could, to give her hints and reminders of how special she was to him. But they had so few chances to be truly alone; all too often, it seemed they were at Center Neptune and unknown seconds away from being called out on missions.

Missions that he had to lead, missions that he had to _win._

After all, was he not "the fearless, invincible Commander of G-Force"? As such, he had to be perfect, all the time, knowing the eyes of the Federation were fixated on him, and desperate to see the war with Spectra end.

It had already gone on far too long…

He'd never thought it would be this long. And he alone got called into the secret meetings that the others didn't have to attend, sent the top secret reports that the others didn't have to read. He alone knew just how very desperate the Federation was becoming. The financial burden of maintaining all the defenses against Spectra was so very heavy. Keeping the Federation citizenry whipped up in an anti-Spectran patriotic frenzy could only last for so long, and there was no end in sight to the war. Grumblings about the Federation tax load were growing louder on many planets…

He tried to shield his teammates from this additional weight –missions were damned stressful enough without the added burden of worrying about a mission's price tag. He didn't want Jason having to worry about the cost of every missile that he so eagerly wanted to fire at the enemy. He didn't want Princess having to worry about the clean-up and environmental decontamination costs that blowing up a Spectran secret base would ultimately entail. He wanted his team to worry only about defeating Spectra, and staying alive while they did it.

"Fearless and invincible, the Commander of G-Force and his lady comrade-in-war…"

He thought about what the narrator had said in that damned vid. Did those people ever think about the toll it took on him, having to hear all the time about how heroic and perfect he was supposed to be at all times? To Princess and to the world…

Perfect.

And that was all he had ever wanted for Princess. He loved her so much it _hurt_ , and he so badly wanted everything to be perfect for her. She deserved that!

She deserved a boyfriend who had the time to take her out for dinner and a movie, to take her for picnics in the park, spend hours of peace and solitude alone with her, spend uninterrupted nights of bliss with her…

To get down on one knee and ask her to be his wife.

How many months had he been telling himself "The war will end soon, the war will end soon…"?

How long had he been keeping Princess hanging, nothing to go on but some compliments and the odd "private message"?

Too long. Much too long.

And now she had found out about Hannah…

It had been the one time –damn it, the only time- that he had cracked and given into the temptation of mindless instant gratification…

And now Princess had found out about it. And that she'd been a Spectran agent.

Mark groaned, still clutching his head.

 _What the hell am I going to do now?_

There was a soft knock on his door.

"Mark?"

He gave a small gasp. That was Princess' voice.

He nearly ran over to the door and pulled it open.

It was Princess, looking so very beautiful. Pure and fresh, without the make-up and out of the red dress. Instead she was wearing a filmy white slip that made her look like an angel…

She came into his room and the door had shut behind her.

Words, he thought frantically, he needed to say something, say all the right things, _now._

He didn't know what to say…

Her eyes were deep and warm. She didn't _look_ angry, or at least not like she had in the disco.

"I'm sorry," he managed, "I'm sorry." He reached out and took her hand in his. "I've… made mistakes, but you're the only girl for me, the only girl I love."

"Mark…" she whispered.

"You deserve so much that I can't give you right now… That's the only reason that I've… not been what you've wanted me to be. I've just wanted everything to be _perfect_ for us –for you- but instead everything's a mess. _I'm_ a mess…

He was babbling like an idiot. Pathetic.

But she drew closer to him and put her hands on his face. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders, a glorious contrast to her pale, flawless skin and the smooth curves of her breasts beneath the white silk. Her sweet pink lips, he could kiss them forever…

"I'm here," she said, staring into his eyes, "And you're here. That's all we ever need. _This is perfect, Mark."_

His heart was pounding.

But he kissed her and then she was in his arms. His beautiful Princess…

Still embracing, still kissing, they moved as one towards the bed.

0000000000

The air in his room felt thick and heavy as Jason sat up in his bed. He propped his sagging head up with his arms, resting his elbows on his knees. And was the room somehow _spinning?_ No way to tell in the total darkness…

Maybe it was all inside his head, which felt as if someone had filled it with syrup. Strange, ethereal dream images of Princess, the glow of her eyes and the sheen of her red dress flickered dimly through his consciousness… accompanied by a dull ache behind his eyes and queasiness in his stomach.

Betelguesian brandy, he told himself –to be avoided in the future. He shook his head, seeking to dispel the fog befuddling his thoughts and restore reality. Why was he awake anyway? And where were his bed sheets? He felt around in the dark but his hands encountered only the smooth surface of the bed's mattress. Again, Princess' aura wafted elusively through his mind as he tried to put his memory in order. He was at Spaceport 5, he'd been in the disco, he'd met…

The entire evening came slamming back to him in a scattered rush and he gasped when he recalled how it had ended.

 _Princess! She was here- She was…_

His fumbling hands located the remote and he brought up the lights enough to see-

There was no one on the bed but himself.

He was completely alone. The door to the bathroom was open –she wasn't in there either.

He stood up, feeling dizzy and unsteady on his feet, and made his way across the room to peer inside it anyway. The shower had a glass door –she wasn't behind it.

He found his way back to the bed, his mind awhirl as he sat on its edge. He closed his eyes, clutching his head again and rubbing his temples. He could remember everything now. Princess had really been here, in his arms, in his bed.

"Make me feel," she'd whispered, "Everything I've missed…"

Jason could feel his pulse quicken, even as his breath caught. He had done _everything_ that he knew of for her and it had been…

He took a deep breath. It had been wild, unrestrained… _unbelievable._

Had it been real? A wave of nausea washed over him even as he sat there. He hadn't drank all _that_ much brandy, he realized –surely not enough to feel this crappy. Had he somehow been drugged? Had it all been a hallucination?

As much as he wanted to believe that Princess had "seen the light" and come to him last night, and that it was him –Jason- to whom she'd given herself so uninhibitedly, his rational mind was now emerging from the fog and pointing out to him just how utterly improbable that all was. Princess would _never_ have-

But, no! He knew the difference between dreams and reality, and last night had been no dream or even a hallucination. He'd swear his life on that –too many sensory details in his memories, too much that his own imagination could _never_ have come up with- but…

But then why wasn't Princess here now?

If she'd left, it could only be because she'd realized that it had all been a terrible mistake on her part. She'd woken up before he had, and had left as quickly and as silently as she could. She'd realized that it was only Mark that she loved, only Mark that she truly wanted.

He shivered slightly, feeling cold.

But she had been so utterly passionate, last night, holding nothing back, no hesitancy at all…

It all just didn't make a damned bit of sense! He opened his eyes and raised his head. He needed some coffee, needed to put his clothes on and-

And that's when he realized that all his clothes were gone. He hadn't brought much with him to Spaceport 5 –some socks and underwear plus the jeans, t-shirt and shoes that made up his G-Force uniform, that black silk shirt, a jacket.

They were all gone. His small suitcase on the floor was empty. And all the sheets were gone from the bed too. He stood up hastily and checked the bathroom. All the towels were missing as well.

 _What the hell?_

Princess slipping out quietly without waking him held distressing implications but felt all too plausible. But that she would take all of his clothes, towels and sheets with her –that was ludicrous!

He stopped, still gazing around the room, willing himself to breathe calmly, to think clearly, even as his stomach roiled and his heart raced.

What if he really had been drugged –and Princess too? What if someone had gotten inside his room during the night and abducted her?

 _His number two t-shirt was missing, and his jeans, and his shoes… All the garments that made up his G-Force uniform in its civilian mode._

No, no, no! This could _not_ be happening –this was an utter nightmare! _How_ had his cover been blown? He sat down on the bed again, clutching his head. If there was one thing that had been drilled into all of them over the years, it was that their uniforms were irreplaceably precious and must _never_ be lost or fall into the wrong hands. He remembered all too well the harsh reprimands Princess had received from Anderson on one occasion, and the terrible guilt that she'd suffered –and she'd only lost a shoe!

 _But where was Princess now?_

The knowledge that his life would be utter hell if he had to confess to the Chief –and to Mark- that he'd lost his entire uniform was nothing compared to his sudden fear of what might have happened to her…

He grabbed his left wrist. _Yes!_ His wrist communicator was still there. A second later he had it to his mouth.

"Princess, come in, it's Jason –Princess, are you there?"

He tried again, and again. There was no response.

He was on his feet again, frantically pacing the small room. He had to get out of here! He had to find out what the hell was going on!

And he didn't have a scrap of clothing to put on –not even a sheet, towel or face cloth. He looked in the bathroom again…

God damn it -even the _toilet paper_ was gone!

He'd have to call the hotel's front desk… ask someone to bring him clothes, or a towel, or something. But no! That would just draw attention to the fact that _all_ his stuff had been taken.

And there wasn't time for to wait around for that! And…

He cringed. He was going to have to contact Mark. He was going to have to admit that he'd lost his entire uniform -and that Princess had been snatched from his room too.

Or had she already been long gone –and entirely of her own volition- when the clothes thief had infiltrated his room? What if she were okay, and was just ignoring his attempts to contact her, not ready yet to tell him what a reckless mistake she thought she'd made? Jason sighed to himself. Really, that was the explanation that made the most sense…

But his G-Force uniform was still missing –something had to be done about that, and fast! He gritted his teeth, and raised his communicator once more to his mouth.

"Mark, it's Jason. You there?"

There was no immediate response. Jason clenched his teeth. Was he sleeping? In the shower? Too busy sulking or brooding?

Whoever had stolen his clothes _–and sheets and towels-_ Jason realized in that instant, they had also aimed to keep him stuck this room, too embarrassed to leave.

On the verge of calling Mark again, he now closed his teeth together with a snap and began striding towards the door, jaw clenched and brows drawn together in a fierce scowl.

 _He wasn't going to just sit here and take it!_

0000000000


	5. Chapter 5

Mark didn't want to wake up. His dreams were all about Princess and so… perfect. He felt so very groggy; if only he could just stay asleep a little longer yet…

But as he slowly opened his eyes in the faintly lit room, looking up and seeing only the dim ceiling above him, he froze, remembering…

 _Not a dream at all._

His mouth spread into a slow smile of dawning joy; he began to breathe again, his chest rising and falling beneath the bedsheet and the slim, white arm draped languidly across him.

She was here, she was actually here. He closed his eyes again. For that moment, all he could do was lie there, savoring it all again in his mind, glorying in the knowledge that it had all been real –the sweet passion in the touch of her lips and hands, of her body joining so yearningly with his in such bliss and fulfillment. His beautiful Princess… In spite of Hannah –in spite of _everything_ about his life- he and Princess were together. Truly together, at last. Here. Now. Yes, part of his mind was well aware that he had crossed a line, entered a nebulous world where the clear-cut structure of his role as G-Force leader to his teammate, the Swan, was gone and… he didn't know quite what would be there instead.

Except that he and Princess would be together. Yes, that was how it would be; there could be no going back now to that emotional glass wall he'd kept between them, to that close-but-never- _too_ -close tension and eternal waiting for the perfect moment. She'd been right in what she'd said, he told himself –all they'd ever needed for everything to be perfect was simply to be together. Everything would have to reshape, _somehow_ , around this new reality…

He opened his eyes again, turning his head to gaze on her now even as he reached for her hand, near his side.

 _Whaaat?_ He cried out in horror, feeling the limp torpor of her hand, seeing the blond hair…

And the dark stains on the bedsheet where it covered her naked body.

Visceral instinct caused him to hurl himself out of the bed, away from her and towards the door. He was on his feet, gasping, back to the wall and staring in blank stupefaction before his frantic thoughts caught up to him.

Hannah. Agent Hannah. Was that _blood_ all over the sheets? Was she… dead?

 _How the hell did she get here? Where was Princess?_

He felt dizzy, and sick. He slumped back against the wall, gasping and trying frantically to think. He had to do something…

Hannah's eyes were open, but still and vacant. Was she breathing? He would need to find out. And he had to call for a medic.

 _But where was Princess? Was she-_

How could this be happening… _Think_ , he berated himself fiercely, even as his thoughts spiraled towards sheer panic

There was a knock on the door.

"Spaceport Security," said a voice, "Our apologies, but there's been a report-"

Without thinking, he yanked the door open, desperate for anything that might help him make sense of this utter nightmare he'd just woken to.

He found himself staring at three men wearing identical dark suits, all gaping at him in shock. Mark glanced down at himself, realizing only then that he wasn't wearing _anything._

Realizing only then that his arms and chest were speckled and smeared with blood _–Hannah's blood?_ Embarrassment at his nakedness was nothing compared to the shock he felt now.

"Something terrible's happened," he managed to say even as the three men pushed past him into the room, shutting the door again. One of the men moved quickly around the bed to Hannah.

"We can see that," snapped another of them who'd remained in front of the door, glaring at Mark, his voice quiet but cold with suspicion.

They think _I_ did this? Mark closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to remain calm and rational. This could all be cleared up; whatever the hell was going on here, he had _not_ hurt Hannah or anyone else!

"She's dead," announced the man checking on Hannah.

 _Oh no…_

"Stab wounds, from the look of it," continued the man. The man facing Mark reached for the wall panel and brought the room's lights on full strength even as the third man, moving about the room, gestured towards the night table.

"Weapon's there."

They all stared now at the knife lying there…

 _Where had that come from? He'd never seen it before in his life!_

"There was a report," said the glaring man facing Mark, "Of a woman crying, screaming for help –care to explain what-"

"I didn't do this!" said Mark, "I just woke up and she was… there."

"Right," said the man, clearly not believing him one bit. Mark could hardly blame him. He cast a frantic look around the room, at himself –naked, bloody-stained and probably looking half-crazed. He still felt dizzy, and now more than a little queasy…

 _Princess –where was Princess?_

"Look," the man continued, assessing Mark speculatively "Explain to us just exactly who _you_ are -and who _she_ is. Under the right circumstances…"

It took Mark a second or two to realize that the man might well be implying that he could get out of all this with, what – _a bribe?_

"Wait, this is _Hannah_ –from the disco," gasped the third man, who'd moved closer to get a look at her face.

The man nearest Mark now stared over at Hannah's body, genuine distress on his face for a moment before it hardened again and he turned to glare fiercely at Mark.

"You killed _Hannah?"_ he demanded

It looked like Hannah had connections here at Spaceport 5 –maybe even a whole fanbase.

"Listen, I didn't kill anyone!" insisted Mark, "Someone's trying to frame me-"

 _Someone who knew he was the leader of G-Force?_

"Well," growled the man, still regarding Mark with hostility, "For your sake, you'd better be able to prove that –and until then it's a detention cell for you!"

He pulled a gun from his pocket now, and trained it on Mark.

"And damn it –put some clothes on, would you?" snarled the man.

Detention cell? Mark cringed inwardly. He refused to believe for an instant that he could be found guilty of killing Hannah, but…

How on Earth could he explain to _these_ people that he was the leader of G-Force, here on a covert mission? But what would happen if he passed himself off solely as a lowly test pilot for the Federation –he had no real idea of how the justice system functioned on Spaceport 5, but he had the distinct feeling that appearing to be unimportant and without funds or connections would _not_ work in his favor here.

He would have to contact Chief Anderson, explain what had happened, ask for his help –admit what a terrible mess he'd made of the mission here and that his cover might have been blown…

And where was Princess? He wanted desperately to try to contact her, but how could he with these three men all watching? Rubbing his wrist communicator anxiously with one hand, he looked over to his suitcase now, in a corner of the room, and gestured towards it.

"My suitcase..."

The man, still keeping the gun trained on him, stepped aside to allow Mark to walk towards it.

He hadn't packed much at all for this trip, so when he knelt and opened the suitcase it was instantly apparent that his white jeans and his number one t-shirt weren't there.

There was nothing but socks, underwear, the purple shirt he'd worn in the disco. Feeling his chest tighten, he glanced all around the room now looking for his shoes.

They were gone too. The only thing on the floor that he could see was the silvery dress that Hannah had been wearing in the disco last night.

 _Oh my God_ …

Now he was also going to have to tell Chief Anderson that someone had stolen his G-Force uniform.

How, he asked himself, covering his eyes with one hand, _How_ could the most perfect night ever have now led to the worst morning of his entire existence?

 _And what had happened Princess?_

He looked down at his wrist communicator, and even as he did, its face lit up with an incoming signal.

Jason.

"Mark, it's-"

Hastily, he shut it off and stood up. There was a white bathrobe hanging from a hook on the inside of the bathroom door. He would have to make do with it, for now.

Donning it, he turned to the three Spaceport security men, squaring his shoulders and attempting to muster what remaining dignity he could despite the terrible anxiety flooding his mind.

The man near the door still had a gun trained on him, and the third man was now crossing the room to join him. The second man, still near Hannah, was speaking into a small communicator, apparently summoning "forensics personnel" and looking like he wasn't going anywhere.

"Detention cell, you say?" asked Mark, looking to the man with the gun, sensing he was the one in charge, "Don't worry, I'll come quietly."

"But," he added, "There's someone that I need to contact and apprise of this... situation. He's on Earth."

"Oh, you'll get your 'phone call,' don't worry," replied the man, sneering.

It was then that the door flew open and slammed into the man, sending him staggering, dropping his gun and falling sideways on to the bed.

And an instant later, Jason burst into the room and hastily shut the door again.

He was stark naked.

" _Jason?"_ was all that Mark, in his shock, could manage to say. Now what the hell was _this_ all about?

But Jason himself was staring around the room in bewilderment. Taking in the fact that it contained Mark in a bathrobe, three men in suits and the very dead Hannah appeared, for once, to have rendered him speechless.

The man he'd just knocked over snarled a furious curse, retrieved his gun and regained his footing, now training his gun on Jason. The third man then pulled out a gun of his own, but he pointed his at Mark.

"A friend of yours, huh? Don't move –either of you!" snapped the first man, staring at Jason, his lip curled in disgust. "And what kind of pervs are you two anyway? _"_

Before he or Jason could reply –and really, what _was_ there to say?- the man continued.

"It's the detention cells for both of you!" 

0000000000

"There… it is," burbled Keyop excitedly, gazing at the large, glowing dot on the viewscreen, "Spaceport 5."

"How much time will be required for refueling?" asked President Kane, turning away from the radar screens to look at Tiny. During the trip from Center Neptune, he'd moved over to Jason's chair, apparently to wile away the time by gazing at what could be seen on the long range radar. "I must proceed to the Carinae asteroid field as soon as possible."

"Um," said Tiny, not really sure. At any _Federation_ station, the Phoenix could pull rank and move to the head of any queue there might be –especially with the Federation's President on board- but here at Spaceport 5… "Hopefully, not too long."

Hopefully, he admitted to himself, long enough to at least get a brief look around the space station's main area, though probably not long enough to visit the infamous disco.

As reconciled as he was to so often staying behind and missing the action, he had to admit that he'd enjoy seeing his teammates' startled reactions if he were to encounter them _here_ , of all places, and in the company of President Kane. He'd hold off on trying to contact any of them –after all, they were supposed to be undercover.

Keyop was almost bouncing up and down in Mark's chair –no doubt at all that he was excited to be here.

They were getting closer to the station now, enough to see all the traffic around it as various ships arrived and departed.

"Ooh, big ship," noted Keyop, pointing at the viewscreen to alert Tiny, "Wonder where… it's from."

The ship that Keyop had noticed was indeed a very large one, though quite generic. Not Federation, thought Tiny, but he couldn't say with any certainty where else it might be from.

It did occur to him, though, that it was closer to Spaceport 5 than they were, and that if it were intending to refuel, ending up in line behind it would _certainly_ give them some time to check out Spaceport 5…

0000000000

The small scientific research ship hovered stationary in space, near the edge of the Carinae asteroid field. Inside, Chief Anderson was hunched over its vast panel of instruments, studying numerous different readings.

He sat up and turned to snatch a stream of paper now printing out from one device.

"Yes," he muttered, studying the read-outs intently, "Just as I thought –it _is_ the same radiation signature. After all these years…"

He stood up hastily, walking the few feet necessary to reach the radar screens.

"But where is it?" he whispered, adjusting the screens to show him a broader swath of nearby space. "Why can't I find it?"

There was one especially prominent dot on the screen, now helpfully identified by the ship's navigational computer as "Spaceport 5."

" _Of course,"_ breathed Chief Anderson, but his face tensed with anxiety.

Abruptly he moved to the pilot's chair and began hitting switches, firing up all of the small ship's engines.

"If it falls into the wrong hands…"

0000000000

"The refueling tech said at least thirty minutes," said Tiny, emerging from the doors of the station's refueling port and striding over to join Keyop and President Kane.

This was good news to Keyop's ears. Already, he was gazing in all directions around the interior of the station's central common area. It was a massive space, glassed in on one side to provide a view of the star-speckled space beyond, criss-crossed by monorail tubes, and filled with gardens lit up with artificial sunlight, pools and fountains, and also with people. Lots of people, some walking purposefully, some strolling aimlessly and some gathered at tables, talking.

At the refueling port, he and Tiny had both detransmuted to their civvies before leaving the Phoenix, and no one here was giving them a second glance. Even President Kane seemed to be escaping recognition, at least for now.

"Did the tech… recognize Phoenix?" asked Keyop curiously. G-Force was certainly famous in Federation space, but he wondered now if they were as readily identifiable here. It occurred to him belatedly that Chief Anderson would frown on the fact that they'd left the ship at all –in uniform or in civvies.

"If he did, he didn't say," replied Tiny, who was also taking in the impressive view, gazing up as a monorail car filled with passengers glided silently overhead in one of the elevated glass tubes, "But I think this is a very 'no questions asked' kind of place –besides, we'll be leaving again really soon."

He glanced at President Kane, and Keyop noted that he too was looking all around, but with the alert and attentive air of one who had just unexpectedly heard a familiar sound or caught whiff of a familiar scent.

"Everything… okay, Sir?" asked Keyop.

"Yes, yes," replied President Kane, but he continued to frown and sweep his eyes over all the nearby people, coming and going.

Keyop began to do the same, but he was working his way through all the faces in hope of spotting Mark, Princess or Jason. They were, after all, at this station somewhere.

"Ah, they're probably in the hotel or the disco," said Tiny after a minute, apparently reading his thoughts, "We won't see them. Come on, we've got just enough time to buy, say, souvenir t-shirts or mugs –something to prove to them later that we really were here- and then we'll have to head back to the Phoenix."

Together, they began walking towards a nearby kiosk that appeared to purvey such items. But Keyop paused, turning to look back and assure President Kane that they weren't going far.

"Tiny!" Keyop grasped his teammate's arm, causing him to also stop and turn.

President Kane was nowhere in sight. He and Tiny both began _really_ looking all around now.

Where could he have gone? And why?

0000000000


	6. Chapter 6

Princess opened her eyes slowly…

There was dim light in her hotel room and her night table with its small lamp loomed large in her vision –but all oddly blurry. She blinked several times, willing her eyes to focus better. There was some strange object lying on the night table, less than a foot from her face, reflecting faintly the fuzzy light.

Even as she began tentatively to extend one arm, she became aware of the pain behind her eyes, and the weariness in her limbs. She remained still instead, only breathing slowly and trying to make sense of it all…

And the previous night came back to her mind like a slap in the face.

The disco. Mark. _Mark and Agent Hannah._

Her breath caught as anger, grief and confusion all seized her. And then panic followed.

She'd left the disco abruptly, unwilling to even look at, much less speak to Mark until she'd had a chance to absorb what she'd just learned, to think it all through –determined to get out of there while she could still manage to walk with a semblance of cool and with her head held high.

She'd made it back here to her room before the tears came, and she'd yanked off the red dress and thrown it on the bed. It was dress she'd long been saving for just the right moment, for a chance to _really_ make Mark see her in a whole new way. The glamorous and exotic Spaceport 5 disco -on the other side of the galaxy, quite literally, from the bridge of the Phoenix, the G-Force ready room or Jill's restaurant- had seemed like the perfect backdrop for a night that could have been… so perfect.

Already succumbing to trembling, she'd gone straight into the bathroom, and she'd turned the shower on full blast, as hot as she could endure, and she'd just stood there under the water, leaning forward to rest her palms and forehead against the smooth tiled wall, letting its rush of sound and soothing heat drown and quell her shaking and sobbing…

 _And she couldn't remember a damned thing after that._

Nothing at all.

But now, her vision was finally clearing and she could make out the object on her night table –a clear syringe with a long, shiny needle. Its plunger was completely pushed in, but a drop of liquid had dripped from its tip onto the surface of the night table.

First memory loss and now- _Where the hell had that thing come from?_

Her heart was pounding, even as she lay still in the bed. But in the silence of her room she then heard unmistakable sounds.

Someone else was in her room.

She couldn't see who it was; she was lying on her side and facing away from … whoever had just opened her suitcase.

Someone had _drugged_ her; someone was in _her_ room, searching through _her_ things.

Her mind raced. What to do, what to do… Keeping lying still? Whoever the person was, they must be thinking she'd still be unconscious. They wouldn't have known her cerebonic implant could reduce, if not eliminate, the effect of many drugs.

No. Whoever the sneaking bastard was, she had to confront them!

She moved her leg slightly. Yes, some residual lethargy there –as if she'd spent the night in a gym rather than a bed- but not too bad. And no apparent reaction from the intruder. All she could hear were sounds of rustling fabric.

The intruder, she dared to conclude, was alone and wasn't looking at her, and might even have their back to the bed.

It was now or never.

Silently, carefully, Princess sat up in the bed and turned to face…

Even in the dim light, it was clearly a woman, with long dark hair. She indeed had her back to Princess as she knelt before her suitcase, rummaging through it and holding up her garments, one by one, to inspect them closely.

But Princess could recognize the shirt the woman was wearing and especially the stripes of her pants. And she realized that she herself was wearing nothing at all but her wrist communicator.

 _That bitch is wearing my civvies!_

Her red dress lay on the floor near the woman, as did the filmy white nightie that she'd brought here to Spaceport 5… In the hope that, just maybe, Mark might see her in it- But she couldn't think about _that_ , about Mark. Not right now. She had to act!

There was a pile of what looked like sheets and towels, and even a bathrobe, on the floor as well but Princess' gaze was drawn to some other familiar-looking clothes and shoes that were also on the floor. Even in a rumpled heap, she recognized the colours and patterns –especially of the t-shirts.

Those were Mark's and Jason's civvies.

Whoever the hell this woman was, she was trying to steal all of their G-Force uniforms.

Princess slid the sheets down and away from her legs, moving across the bed as a silent and vengeful predator. She'd lost a shoe once and, before she'd gotten it back, there'd been hell to pay –she'd never seen the Chief so angry with her. She couldn't begin to contemplate what an epic disaster it might be if she, Mark and Jason all lost their precious, transmuting uniforms that helped make possible so much of what they did as G-Force.

Their uniforms' fabric fit them closely and fluidly yet could repel bullets and shield them from extreme heat and cold or from explosions. Their capes could stiffen to wings and keep them aloft in the air, then relax upon landing. Their uniforms formed the matrix of the whirlwind pyramid and somehow bound them together, in their precarious formation, into one spinning entity of destruction. And in the blink of an eye, their uniforms and could change to innocuous looking civvies, concealing their identities as G-Force even as they concealed and hid their weapons too. Like all of them, she had no idea how any of it actually _worked_ –no more than she knew how all their vehicles transmuted or how the Phoenix became the lethal Fiery Phoenix. She only knew that it did work, and very well.

And that she couldnever let this woman get out of this room with even one piece of clothing from any of their civvies; and how dare that woman wear _her_ civvies?

Princess loomed behind her now, taking care she cast no revealing shadows in the dim light, glaring down at her from her higher vantage atop the bed. The dark-haired woman had just closed her suitcase and was now folding up those garments that were Mark's and Jason's –apparently she'd determined they were all that she wanted, them and the stolen garments she was wearing herself.

She never saw the blow coming, the sudden, sharp snap to the base of her skull from Princess' hand. She didn't react at all, except to fall back and sideways and then remain limp and still.

But Princess' grim satisfaction turned swiftly to horror, making her gasp aloud

The woman not only had taken her clothes; it was now apparent that she also had her face.

 _The woman looked virtually identical to Princess herself._

Her heart was pounding again as she stared down at the woman, frozen still but her stomach roiling.

A Spectran agent surgically altered to look just like her? Was Spectra hoping to infiltrate the G-Force team and destroy it from within? Were there also look-alikes of Mark and Jason lurking around here somewhere now, just waiting for this one bring them the necessary civvies to wear?

This meant, she realized, feeling even sicker, that their covers must all be blown. How else could Spectran agents have identified and targeted them here at Spaceport 5, when they'd been entirely in civilian mode since they'd left Earth to come here?

She moved, jerkily. She had to do something! She brought the lights up to full illumination and turned to stare at the strange-but-frighteningly-familiar woman. Even she could almost have believed she was looking at herself. That was her face, her dark green hair, her body…

She'd judged her blow carefully, to render the woman unconscious without killing her, but she wasn't going to trust her luck in the matter of how long she would stay unconscious.

How had this woman gotten in here anyway? But Princess couldn't be sure she'd locked her door properly when she'd stormed in here last night, on the verge of tears…

She was shivering now. Damn it, she needed some clothes – _her_ clothes!

Distasteful as it was, she quickly stripped all her G-Force clothes –shirt, pants and shoes- off the woman's limp and unresponsive body. The bra and underwear –those she could keep! They weren't part of the G-Force outfit. Next she tore one of the sheets from the pile on the floor ( _why_ were these extra sheets and towels here anyway?) into long strips.

With them, she shoved the woman into a sitting position with her back against one of the bed posts. She tightly and securely bound the woman's feet together, and also her wrists, behind her back and around the bed post. For good measure, she gagged her too and also tied her neck to the bed post as well –she was feeling far from compassionate where Spectran women were concerned and she couldn't have her yelling to draw attention, or able to rub her face against the carpet to dislodge the gag.

Princess shuddered while dressing, putting her civvies, fresh from the body of her sinister doppelganger, on to her own body. But it took only a moment to raise her wrist and say "Transmute" to change them into the pink and white garments of the G-Force Swan, verifying as she did that they were indeed her genuine civvies. Then, she promptly changed them back to their civilian mode again. Their instant self-cleaning via the transmutation process, she paused to reflect, had never been more welcome.

She'd been in the moment, reacting to a crisis, but now her heart rate was approaching normal again –and other thoughts, and emotions, were clamoring for her attention.

Mark…

Agent Hannah. She cast another look at the woman who'd just tried to steal her own identity. She must be in league with Hannah in this plot. Where was Hannah right now?

Mark…

No. Tears sprang to her eyes. He'd never…

But he had –nearly a year ago. Here at Spaceport 5.

Had Hannah found out, back then, that Mark was in G-Force? Was this all _his_ fault?

She couldn't think about any of that right now! This was a mission-critical situation, she need to be cool and rational and…

She needed to sit down on the bed, curling her legs up to her chest and resting her face on her knees. Movement had dissipated some of the tightness in her muscles but she still felt so very weary. She cast a nervous glance at the syringe still lying on the night table. What the hell was that stuff anyway, and what had it done to her? She couldn't remember _anything_ after entering the shower last night, and if she'd spent the whole night conked out on the bed here, she sure didn't feel very refreshed from it.

She needed to contact Mark; it was imperative that she inform her Commander immediately of what was happening…

But instead she sighed, a long slow sigh from of sad disillusionment that rose from deep within.

She'd constructed dreams all around Mark; she'd been doing it for years. Beautiful, cherished dreams –a castle in the clouds that she could retreat to for reprieve from the bleak, stressful reality of her G-Force existence. With no chance for much of a normal life like other girls her age, she'd been clinging to her dreams, so sure that she and Mark had a special bond and a destiny together. And she'd stayed true to her dreams, all these years, always believing that the duty to G-Force and the Federation that kept her and Mark from truly being together was a sacrifice they both shared and one that would be gloriously worth it in the end when the war was won…

She'd been so naïve. So stupid. She had to face that harsh reality now.

She hugged her legs more tightly, pressing her eyes to her knees and letting her jeans absorb her tears.

How could she have been such an idiot to believe that a healthy, red-blooded, beautiful male like Mark –in a line of work that could easily get him killed on any given day- would really save himself for a future with her alone? Look at Jason –according to Center Neptune gossip, he was _far_ from abstinent.

Last night had been a massive reality check. How could she ever have permitted herself to believe such a fantasy? Her castle of dreams was shattered.

All this time, he'd been with other women –like Hannah- and she'd had no clue…

 _Other women –but not me._

And she would have - _she'd wanted to_ \- but always Mark had remained, in a sense, just one step too far away. Smiling at her, his blue eyes shining in that oh-so-warm way she'd believed was for her alone, but not touching her. Telling her she was pretty and other little compliments, sending her personal messages via wrist communicator, so often pairing her with himself during missions and sometimes putting an arm around her after, while they were still in their uniforms –but never more than that. There'd been a line he'd never cross.

Not with her anyway. But if with other women, then why not her? She knew him better than any other woman ever could, didn't she? Or, she'd thought she did…

Was she… too familiar now, too boring for him? Unappealing to him in a way that no red dress in a disco could ever change? Had he deliberately strung her along, playing on her naïveté in order to bask in her adoring gaze and to secure her staunch support? She couldn't count how many times she'd stood by him unquestioningly, even when Jason had been ready to defy him. Especially then, in fact.

Idiot, she sobbed, berating herself. You've been such an idiot!

Her eyes were closed but in her mind she could still see Mark's beautiful eyes, remembering the way he sometimes looked at her from across a room and made her feel she was seeing into his very soul…

Had it really all been a delusion, a lie, even though such looks from him had long been her heart's very sustenance? No actual words of commitment had been spoken but she'd _believed._

Surely _something_ there had been true?

She lifted her head, shaking it. She was so confused! The pain behind her eyes, not to mention the knot forming in her stomach, sure wasn't helping her any.

But she didn't have time for any more of this! She had to do something about the all-too-clear-and-real Spectran plot that was unfolding around them right now.

She had to-

A glance at her wrist communicator showed what she'd not noticed before –three incoming attempts to contact her from Jason. She must have been still unconscious then.

But none from Mark.

She glanced at the hotel room's wall comm. The light that would indicate voice messages was dark –nothing there either. Unless they'd been erased…

She would have to try to contact Mark –he was the leader of G-Force and the current crisis had to supersede all her personal feelings.

She tried, but she couldn't get a response from Mark's wrist communicator.

Or Jason's.

What could be happening with those two? If they couldn't answer her incoming signals, it could only mean something bad…

Her evil Spectran look-alike on the floor was beginning to stir.

Princess really didn't want to have to deal with her right now. And the way she was tied up and gagged, Princess had no doubt she could be left unattended with no fear of her escaping or yelling to attract attention.

She had to get out of here! Mark and Jason's rooms in this hotel, she recalled from their check-in, were on the same level, down two levels from where her room was and she thought she could even remember their room numbers too. Her search had to begin somewhere.

Her prisoner was still moving, surely about to open her eyes…

Princess retrieved Mark's and Jason's civvies from the floor, realizing as she did that even more of Jason's clothes were here too –the black shirt was definitely his and she assumed the men's underwear were too. She set all of their G-Force civvies down on the bed. She'd look odd and feel awkward walking around with her torpid arms full of men's shoes and clothes or lugging her suitcase with her, and until she knew what was really going on out there, they were probably more secure here. She glanced over at her prisoner… There was no way she could possibly escape –she was tied up far too well for that.

She'd make a point of getting back here as soon as possible anyway.

With that, Princess left her hotel room. One backward glance at her prisoner to reassure herself that she was securely bound, then she shut the door behind her.

"Lock" she told it –she'd keyed it for her voice alone- and pausing to activate the "do not disturb," she moved briskly down the corridor for the nearest elevator.

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For what had to have been the hundredth time that morning, Mark found himself contemplating the perversity of fate, turning his world from heaven to hell in the space of mere hours. And while he was asleep, no less. But it wasn't like he could do much else, as a murder suspect sitting on a bench in a detention cell.

Spaceport Security had taken away their wrist communicators –"no signaling or communication devices allowed in the cells"- and his one permitted attempt to contact Chief Anderson to come bail him out of the mess he'd gotten himself into, using the Detention Center's comm system, had resulted only in a flustered explanation from Zark that Chief Anderson's current whereabouts were apparently unknown even to him but that he and Susan would endeavor to locate him at once.

But until that happened... He was the Commander of G-Force, _damn it_ , but right now he was just… stuck here. He was so accustomed to giving the orders, making things happen to solve the problem, accomplish the mission. This enforced helplessness he faced now was bordering on torture.

"I didn't do anything to her," muttered Mark, staring down blankly at his bare feet.

He heard a faint sniff from Jason, his "likely accomplice" according to Spaceport Security, who was lounging a few feet away along the bench that lined the opposite wall of the small space. Before Security had herded them here from the hotel room, he'd snagged Mark's own purple shirt to wear though he hadn't bothered to button it up, and a towel to wear around his waist, sarong-style. Mark thought he looked ridiculous, but then, he wasn't doing much better himself, still wearing only the white bathrobe.

No doubt Jason had needed to flee a hotel room in a hurry –probably because some woman's husband had turned up unexpectedly. But, hell, Jason could pilfer _all_ his clothes if it would prevent him from ever having to see him naked again!

The only clothes Mark had thatreally mattered had already been stolen…

But he raised his head to see his second-in-command staring at him with that expression, all too familiar of late, of barely concealed resentment. But there was something else…

Self-righteousness? Contempt?

"You think _I_ stabbed her?" demanded Mark.

"No," said Jason. But his mouth quirked slightly. "Not unless 'stabbed' here is a euphemism for-"

"You think I did _that_ with her?" He glared furiously at Jason, wanting to swat that smug look off his face with the back of his hand.

"Why not, Commander?" said Jason, "It seems you've done it before."

Mark nearly choked. Damn it –Jason had him there.

But he'd been with Princess last night. _Princess!_ She'd forgiven him and it had been… so damned wonderful. He would have loved to have told Jason that –that'd kill the smirk on his face all right! But no way was he sharing something that private…

"No," continued Jason, "My guess is the murderer got into your room after –no doubt you were all worn out, sleeping too deeply to notice. Maybe she even let the other person in –as an accomplice of some kind- or it was some other agent who wanted to get rid of her and set you up, all at the same time."

There was a gleam in Jason's eye.

God damn it, Jason was just all over the idea that he'd spent last night with Hannah –a known Spectran agent! Hell, was it too much to expect a little loyalty here from his second-in-command? Instead, he seemed to be enjoying this!

Mark clenched his teeth, willing the rush of anger to abate.

"There was definitely someone else in my room," he said, making a show of keeping his voice even –reacting would just be playing even more into Jason's hand. "My G-Force civvies have been stolen."

And Princess has probably been abducted by a murderer…

His thoughts kept coming back around to her, looping in helpless frustration and anxiety.

Keeping doors in lock mode was second nature to him, to them all, but he'd been a mess of guilt and despair last night when he'd gotten back to his room and couldn't recall for sure if he'd…

Maybe Princess had already left and gone back to her own room, before… everything else happened. Mark didn't want to think she'd have left him like that, after their first, magical time together. But maybe she'd had some reason to go and had slipped out quietly, trying not to wake him. At this point, that was what he actually wanted to believe.

But Jason had used his one permitted call to try to reach Princess in her hotel room. No answer –he'd only been able to leave a voice message.

If only he still had his wrist communicator –maybe Princess had been trying to contact him or had gone to his room looking for him. He had no way to know and it was killing him!

At any rate, his words took the smug amusement clean off Jason's face. His shoulders sagged, as if with guilt, or relief.

"So that's why you're in the bathrobe…"

But then Jason's own bizarre arrival in Mark's hotel room came flashing back into his current thoughts. He shuddered.

"And you," demanded Mark, "What the hell happened to _your_ clothes?"

Jason fidgeted, his mouth tightening.

"Someone got into my room last night too while I was asleep," he finally admitted, "And stole all of them –even the sheets and towels."

After a moment, he added, "And I think I might have been drugged somehow –I felt like crap when I woke up."

"Me too," said Mark, "And I swear I'm not responsible for Hannah being in my room!"

Jason didn't answer and gloomy silence prevailed.

Mark's shoulders drooped to match Jason's now. He stared blankly at his feet again.

"So then both our covers are blown," he said.

"I'm worried about Princess," said Jason abruptly, with a note of real anxiety making his voice catch.

Mark glanced up at him, but Jason didn't elaborate. His eyes were closed.

"Me too." Mark sighed, putting his head in his hands and lowering his elbows to his knees.

What a mess this mission had become. They were _G-Force_ , damn it, but since they'd come to Spaceport 5, everything seemed to be going wrong somehow.

He was so _tired_ , of it all –the constant stress of the war and all its demands on his mind and his life…

And tired of sitting in this cell!

Should he make a fuss and demand that Spaceport Security start searching for her? But to steal their civvies, someone had to know that he and Jason were G-Force and if someone was targeting G-Force members, then what if calling attention to Princess and their missing clothes was the worst thing to do? He was used to relying on the Federation's Galaxy Security personnel, but here… Could he trust _anyone_ at this damned Spaceport?

0000000000


	7. Chapter 7

Inside Princess' hotel room, the woman who resembled her so perfectly was awake, still tied to the bedpost at her neck and wrists and struggling furiously to free her feet and hands from the strips of bed sheet that bound them so tightly, with faint muffled sounds of rage slipping past the gag and her green eyes bright with fury.

She ceased her efforts, as one giving up a lost cause, and closed her eyes.

But then her entire body began to shimmer with a silvery sheen and fluidly change shape, becoming taller and slightly thinner, her hair also changing in style, her face changing too…

She was changing into Hannah.

The sheen faded, leaving a woman who was now in all ways identical to the blond Spectran woman. Immediately, she began to wriggle her wrists and ankles with renewed vigor.

But with no success at freeing them.

Once more, she paused and closed her eyes.

Again, a sheen of silver encased her entire body and she became fluid and mutable but this time she took on no new form. Rather, she dissolved completely, flowing free from her bonds now and becoming a pool of liquid crystal on the carpet from which shone blue, pulsating light. The pool began to ooze slowly across the carpet, away from the strips of torn bed sheet that no longer bound anything to the bed post.

0000000000

How long had he been here in this detention cell, Jason wondered. Too damned long, that was for sure! What the hell had Anderson been thinking anyway, taking off without letting anyone know where he was going or how to contact him? If he himself did something like that, Jason had no doubt that he'd be chewed out thoroughly by Anderson –and by Mark too.

Mark…

Jason turned his head to look over at the Commander of G-Force, still hunched over morosely and apparently staring at his bare legs and feet protruding from beneath his bathrobe.

Hah. Too bad the Federation propaganda vid-makers weren't here to film _this._

As awful as the current situation was, Jason couldn't help but derive some satisfaction from the knowledge that this mess was, for once, solely Mark's fault. He had to be the one to blame for Agent Hannah and her mysterious accomplice knowing that they were all in G-Force. When he'd been with her a year ago, Mark must have been careless, let something slip.

He'd probably done a _lot_ of slipping. Jason smirked to himself. But last night? He could well believe that Mark had the ego to think he could play kiss-and-tell with Hannah –with him doing the kissing and her doing all the telling- but not the savvy to actually carry it off. How would she have gotten into his hotel room unless he had opened the door to let her in…

And clearly, he'd been duped –for a second time!

But as for the identity of Hannah's accomplice –the person who'd double-crossed and killed her in Mark's room and who, no doubt, had his and Mark's G-Force civvies at this very moment…

Jason had a strong hunch it was that dark-haired guy with the thin mustache that he'd met in the disco last night –the same guy that he was supposed to meet today in the café! Except he was never going to be able to make the appointment if he was stuck in here!

 _It's your fault I'm here!_ Jason glowered over at Mark. They only arrested me because I turned up in _your_ room at the wrong time.

But Jason found himself suddenly wondering how the thief of his own civvies –no doubt, the dark-haired guy- had gotten into his hotel room during the night to take them because Jason knew that he sure as hell hadn't opened the door for anyone except Princess and he'd left it in lock mode.

And no one could have opened his hotel room door unless they could mimic Jason's own voice, _perfectly._

He tried to imagine scenarios… He'd stayed asleep but Princess had woken up when the dark-haired man had knocked on the door in the middle of the night purporting to be room service delivering drinks which she'd then assumed Jason had ordered and she'd let the man in?

Jason rubbed his eyes. No! He didn't want to imagine something like that because that meant the man had managed to overpower Princess, quickly and silently, and then drug Jason to keep him asleep while he stole all the clothes, sheets and towels. He couldn't get the image of the bloody knife on Mark's night table out of his mind…

No, as depressing as it was, he wanted to believe that Princess had been long gone from his room –even if she'd been thinking she'd just made the worst mistake of her life- before the dark-haired man had arrived to steal everything.

Except then how could he have gotten into Jason's room? Surely Princess wouldn't have left in such a hurry she'd not even closed the door fully behind her?

And more, when she'd been in his arms last night, there'd been no hesitation; her enthusiasm had been… more intense than he'd ever known and not the kind of passion that suddenly reversed to regret when it was all over. His reputation, while exaggerated, had some basis in fact –he wasn't a novice in this area and last night all his instincts had been telling him that she was exactly where she wanted to be…

He looked over at Mark again.

You, he thought. It always comes back to _you_.

Mark was the reason that he was doubting himself, doubting that Princess could have really wanted him last night. After all, wasn't Mark the reason he was held back, stuck with the label of "second choice" in _everything?_

 _But Princess was with me last night –me and not you!_

He would have loved to say that aloud, right now, just to see the look on Mark's face…

But Princess was far too worthy of respect to ever be used as a quick way to one-up Mark, no matter how satisfying it might be.

But where was Princess now? Jason closed his eyes, slouching lengthwise even further along the bench. Sleep wasn't going to happen, but his head seemed to hurt less this way.

In the end, there was nothing that could be done except waiting. There wasn't much he hated more than that. And he was tired, so sick and tired of… not of life, but maybe the life he was leading. The no-end-in-sight war, all the races he missed because of missions, the relationships with women that went nowhere fast because he didn't have enough time for them…

Damn it. _Damn everything._

0000000000

Princess exited the elevator. A quick look at the posted ranges of room numbers in each direction on the wall before her sent her walking to her left. That was the way towards Mark's room.

She was watching the numbers on the various doors as she passed them; she was getting close…

Up ahead, there was a room with an open door. A man in a dark, official-looking suit was in the corridor watching other people in uniforms of a quasi-medical kind who were coming out of the room, bearing a stretcher that had the distinct shape of a human body on it, beneath a draped sheet.

 _Oh no! That was Mark's room!_

She was an instant from breaking into a mad dash towards them but in that moment a woman who was one of the stretcher-bearers gestured towards the sheet-draped body and addressed the man in the suit.

"When we finish the autopsy on her, do we send the report to you?"

"Yeah," replied the man, "Multiple stab wounds are a pretty obvious cause of death but you never know."

Princess' mind raced. This wasn't Mark then, thank God. But she needed to find out what had happened. Best just to act like a nosy passerby…

"Ooh," said Princess, approaching the man in the suit and staring at him wide-eyed, "What happened here? Did you guys catch who did it?"

"We got the bastard," said the man, his mouth tightening, "And another guy who was probably involved –so nothing to worry about here."

"I don't know," said Princess, looking anxiously at the retreating figures carrying the stretcher, "If women are getting murdered here in their own hotel rooms-"

"This wasn't her room," the man cut in, "It was his –a young, handsome guy with big blue eyes who'd have an easy time inviting women in, but he was clearly one crazy sicko –and with a friend in on the 'fun' too."

 _Mark?_ _And Jason?_ Princess tried not to let her confusion and distress show too strongly on her face.

"You be careful now around this place, okay?" the man told her, his face taking on a look of fatherly concern, "A lot of weird crap goes down here at Spaceport 5."

He shook his head sadly and gazed up the corridor at the people carrying the stretcher, almost gone from sight now.

"Hannah's never going to sing in the disco again, and she was the best they ever had…"

 _Hannah._

Walking away now in the opposite direction of the man in the suit, Princess' sought in vain to quell the chaos in her mind. What had Hannah been doing in Mark's room?

 _Isn't that obvious?_

But she was having a hard time accepting that conclusion's blunt logic. Surely Mark, with what he knew about Hannah _now_ , would never…

Or was that just more wishful thinking on her part? Did she really understand men at all?

Maybe she'd shown up at his door and he'd let her in solely to talk to her and maybe get some information? Maybe she'd attacked him and he'd had to defend himself…

By stabbing her multiple times? No, that wasn't Mark's style _at all._

But just the fact that it was Hannah who had been alone with Mark in his room –under any auspices- forced her once again to face the shattered remnants of her romantic dreams in the light of harsh reality.

One thing at a time, she told herself. The mission has to come first. But she knew that, eventually, she would have to know the true reality between her and Mark. No matter how much it hurt.

But Mark's civvies had somehow made their way to her own room, along with Jason's. That horrid Spectran look-alike she'd left tied up in her room had to somehow be behind everything that was going on. Yes, and she might well have been the one who killed Hannah. Everyone knew that Spectrans constantly backstabbed each other –perhaps literally in this case!

Again, her complete lack of memory between being in the shower and waking up in her bed with a syringe inches from her face made her cringe inside. What sort of drug had she been given? She'd have to have that syringe analyzed. Maybe it had only been a tranquilizer but what if it had been truth serum of some kind? For all she knew, she could have spent the entire night blabbing G-Force and Federation secrets to Spectran agents.

She began walking faster. Surely this Spaceport had a Security Center, and she needed to get there as quickly as possible and see if Mark and Jason were being held there. She prayed silently that if they were, she'd be able to speak with them and get some answers –fast! She couldn't leave that other Spectran tied up in her room indefinitely –she had tied her hands and feet awfully tight…

0000000000

The young woman knocked on the door of the hotel room.

"Room service."

Waiting for the occupant to answer, she tucked a strand of her pale brown and curly hair back behind her ear and smoothed the blue fabric of her hotel uniform.

A moment later, the door was opened by another young woman, but this one had dark green hair and was wearing a skimpy red satin dress.

"Thank you," the woman told her, gesturing at the wheeled cart that held the covered plates of food, "Just bring that in here, please?"

She glanced into the room. The woman seemed to be alone, and she noted in passing that there were a _lot_ of sheets and towels in a pile on the floor as well as clothes and shoes lying all over the bed. Hotel guests were forever making messes of their rooms – _they,_ after all, weren't the ones who had to clean them up.

She complied, and green-haired woman closed the door behind her…

Out in the hallway, no one was there to hear the sharp yet muffled scream, suddenly cut off.

But ten minutes later, the door opened again, and the hotel waitress emerged alone, pushing the wheeled cart ahead of her. She paused briefly, adjusting the buttons on the front of her uniform's blouse.

The lower tier of her wheeled cart was curtained, but on one side part of a shirt was poking out where the curtains weren't fully closed –a red shirt with its neck trimmed in bluish-green.

She pushed the shirt further back inside, ensuring that the curtains were fully closed this time and concealing all the tier's contents.

And she moved off down the corridor, leisurely pushing the cart before her, but her face deep in thought…

0000000000

Barzok took a last look in the mirror to ensure that his hair was smoothly in place, his tie straight. He needed to get going soon if he wanted to be at the café on time to meet that young man that he'd met last night at the disco.

He'd overslept. He should have been up hours ago. He'd gotten soft, he reflected, during his time in "exile." Well, he'd just have to teach himself again that you got ahead by hustling, not by sleeping.

Or at least not by sleeping alone. But he'd been doing far too much of that lately for his liking. And to think, he thought wistfully, he'd let himself think that he could really have something with Hannah this time. Oh sure, he knew that in their world "Live fast and hard, and take what you can get before you die," was the motto…

Maybe he was just getting old. He shuddered.

Now Hannah, ever since he'd sprung her from that Federation prison and brought her back here to Spaceport 5, she'd given him a little of the "gratitude" he'd hoped for…

But not much.

No, she was acting more like a kid in a candy store, wanting every shiny bauble or treat that she saw. No doubt, he reflected, after a stint of austerity and deprivation in a prison, it was understandable that she'd go to the other extreme now. But all the partying and drugs, the young men from the disco that she shoved out of her door practically every time he went there to talk business with her…

It was all becoming just too much. She needed to forget about having fun 24/7 and focus on the scam at hand! Pulling off a lucrative sale of that… thing they'd found was their only sure path to getting back into the game again as major players.

Maybe he'd even be able to arrange a mutually agreeable sale with that guy he'd be meeting at the café. They'd talk a bit first, Barzok decided. Then, if things still seemed promising, he'd take the guy to the ship, still in the secure garage vault that only he and Hannah had access to, and let him see… it. According to Hannah, who'd gone there a few times since they'd docked to see… whatever that thing was, it was still exactly the same as when they'd found it.

He moved towards the door and opened it, but before he could step out into the corridor, several large men, all wearing nondescript clothes and with heads of shaggy brown hair, pounced on him and shoved him back inside his room. One of them had slapped a large gloved hand over his mouth, preventing him from shouting.

But once they were all back inside his hotel room and the door was shut again, the hand covering his mouth was removed -though two especially burly thugs retained tight grips on his arms, one on either side.

Barzok was ready to start bellowing indignantly but he caught sight of one tall thug who stood apart from the rest, wearing a long grey cloak with a high collar and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low to conceal his face

There was a sinister aura wafting forth from this man…

Yet also familiar.

The man pulled off the hat and smoothly flung off the cloak with a sweep of his arm to reveal a wash of black, red and purple that left Barzok gasping.

It was Zoltar.

Barzok was utterly stunned. His mind spun; he didn't know what to say. What the hell was Zoltar doing _here_ , of all places? The last time he'd seen Zoltar had been at the end of that failed plot to put salt in the drinking water of several Federation planets –the same plot wherein he'd also tried to foment a coup to replace Zoltar with himself as head of the Spectran Empire.

He couldn't recall the exact words Zoltar had used to explain what he'd do to Barzok if he ever encountered him again, but Barzok could certainly remember the gist of it.

 _Oh shit._

But he hadn't done anything to piss off Zoltar _lately._ He hadn't interfered with any Spectran schemes –or at least none that he knew of…

"It has come to my attention," said Zoltar coldly, "That someone here at Spaceport 5 has something 'interesting' to sell."

He fixed his most ominous glare on Barzok.

"Is that 'someone,' by any chance, you?"

"No," declared Barzok, denial being his instinctive reaction.

Zoltar nodded to the thugs gripping his arms and they immediately began to do their damnedest to dislocate both of his shoulders.

"Aughhhh!" cried Barzok, writhing and twisting but unable to shake their excruciating clutches, "Stop, stop! Yes, it's me, it's me!"

Instantly, Zoltar nodded again and the men ceased trying to tear his arms off by bending them backwards and up.

He was gasping for air, slumping forward, but Zoltar continued.

"I thought as much, as soon as I learned that you were here, Barzok. Your old ship is well-known at this Spaceport and there are members of the docking crew most amenable to bribes in return for information about who has recently arrived.'

Zoltar was smiling, but this didn't reassure Barzok one bit –quite the contrary!

"You are a man that deals in the intelligence trade," continued Zoltar, _"So can I assume that you too are aware that G-Force's Phoenix arrived here just this morning?"_

"What?" gasped Barzok. That was certainly news to him. Damn –that was what he got for oversleeping!

"Yes," snarled Zoltar, "So whatever this 'interesting' thing you have is, you will show it to me immediately!"

Barzok swallowed. Did he have a choice here? He wished he knew where Hannah was –he needed some backup here!

Playing along, he decided, was the best way to go. Maybe this could still all work out okay, even if he had to swap that guy from the disco last night for the far more worrisome prospect of Zoltar. In the end, money was money.

"Hey, no worries," he told Zoltar, managing a feeble smile of his own. "I'm happy to sell it to you."

Zoltar laughed. A horrible, mocking laugh.

"'Sell'?" he cried, "'Sell'?"

 _Oh no…_

"I am the Lord of Spectra and I will take whatever I want! However, you may choose to consider me permitting to you live as payment in full –the only 'payment' that you will receive!"

Everything was going so _horribly_ wrong. If only he had some way to contact Hannah… She was his only possible hope for salvaging this scam now.

But Barzok had to admit to himself that he wasn't sure what she could really do at this stage to help him.

"You will take us to it at once," barked Zoltar, "And men, if he tries anything, you know what to do to him."

The two thugs flanking him released his arms but each pulled back their jackets to reveal guns, equipped with silencers.

Barzok got the message loud and clear.

0000000000

The Security Center turned out to be on the opposite side of the Spaceport from the hotel, but it was a quick ride in a monorail tube to get there.

"You want to talk to _them?"_ was the reply she received, complete with a raised eyebrow, from the security officer at the front desk when she explained who she was looking for.

But she persisted, and was finally told "One of them is in the Comm room at the moment, but we'll put the other one in the meeting room for you."

The meeting room turned out to be very small –a chair for her and one for the "prisoner," separated from her by a thick panel of glass, but with microphones to transmit their voices more clearly to each side of the barrier.

The "prisoner" was Jason.

"Princess!" cried Jason, standing up the instant he saw her, putting his hands against the glass.

So much emotion in his face. He looked incredibly relieved to see her, like he'd been horribly worried about her. He was wearing Mark's purple shirt and… a towel? Recalling the pile of stolen clothes she'd found in her room this morning, she could guess why he'd been forced to borrow and to get creative. He didn't have his wrist communicator on either. His eyes swept up and down her, taking in that she was wearing her civvies, but then came to rest on her face, searching… He looked somewhat shy –or expectant, or… not any way that he'd ever looked at her before. What was going on here?

"I have your civvies," she blurted out, wanting to at least impart that much information while she tried to figure out why Jason was staring at her almost like a high school boy about to ask his crush to the prom.

"You do?" He closed his eyes briefly, his face again flooded with relief, but when he looked at her again, he was… again, the hesitancy, but his eyes and mouth were shifting, hardening even, like a mask.

His normal expression, she realized…

"If you didn't want to stay in my room, after," he said, "I get that."

 _In my room?_ Princess heard his words but her mind seemed unwilling to process them.

"Hey," he added, "We all do… impulsive things sometimes. But why'd you take my civvies and-"

But her mind suddenly flew off the rails _–"impulsive things?"_ She had no recollection of _anything_ she might have done last night, in Jason's room!

And in that instant, the door behind Jason flew open, causing him to turn away from her. Mark rushed into the small room, with a security guard on his heels.

"Hey!" the man was protesting, "Only one of you in here at a time!"

"Your turn's up, Jason," said Mark, sounding every bit the Commander, but his eyes sought and held hers, searching her face just as Jason's had a minute earlier.

"Fine," said Jason flatly, turning again to glance at Mark, lip curling slightly into a sneer. "What did Zark say? Has he located the Chief yet?"

"No," said Mark tersely, pushing past Jason.

Jason didn't reply. He looked briefly into her eyes before exiting the small room with the security guard, who shut the door behind them.

Mark came right up to the glass, gazing at her with a mix of relief and joy but also apprehension and… guilt. And he was wearing, she realized, a hotel bathrobe.

Her own heart was pounding. The warm gaze of Mark's blue eyes had always had that effect on her, but now, hurt and anger were factors too.

 _What had he been doing with Agent Hannah? What the hell was going on?_

"I have your civvies," she said flatly, unable to think of anything else to say, not sure how much to say. All conversations in this room might well be monitored.

He looked incredibly relieved at this news, just as Jason had. Before she could think further, Mark began a rush of words.

"Thank God, you're okay! When I woke up this morning, you were gone and she was there instead, dead, but I didn't do it! I don't know _how_ the hell she ended up in my room! Someone's trying to frame me-"

He faltered slightly, "Someone who probably knows… who I work for."

Princess could only stare at him blankly while her thoughts tumbled one over the other. _She'd been in Mark's room?_ Jason had said she'd been in _his_ room. And _she_ couldn't remember a damned thing about where she might have been!

Mark was still talking, but slower and more quietly now, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "With you gone, I was so damned scared something had happened to you. And the security people here took my wrist communicator –Jason's too."

He was looking at her again. Confusion and, again, guilt. "But why did you leave? After we… It was so perfect; I thought you'd forgiven me… And why did you take my civvies with you? I thought someone had stolen them –maybe the same person who must have dumped Hannah in my room! Jason's are missing –he says someone must have stolen them from his room."

 _Forgiven you?_ Stop, she wanted to yell -stop the universe so I can _think!_ She closed her eyes; seeing Mark's face was not helping her think rationally…

Jason said she'd been in his room last night! Now Mark was saying she'd been in his! Both of them thought she had taken their civvies…

And that look-alike Spectran bitch she'd bashed on the head and tied up had looked _exactly_ like her, and had been wearing _her_ civvies…

And she'd had both Mark's and Jason's civvies…

Oh God! She recalled the syringe she'd seen lying on her night table. _What had she done –or not done?_ If only she could _remember_ last night!

But then she realized there was someone who did know the answers –that damned Spectran imposter she'd left tied to her bed. And she'd already left her there, tightly bound, for too long! She needed to get back there _right now!_

And she'd beat the truth out of her if she had to!

"Princess?" She glanced up to see Mark still staring at her anxiously.

"I have to go!" she blurted out suddenly, "I'll be back –later!"

She turned and ran from the room, ignoring Mark's cry of "Princess, wait! Come back!"

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	8. Chapter 8

They still couldn't find President Kane; he'd disappeared into the milling crowd of people as if it were a fog. Now they'd been all over the vast expanse of the Spaceport's central common area, and they still hadn't spotted him. Tiny finally sent Keyop back to the refueling area to see if the Federation leader had returned to the Phoenix.

"Not… here," came Keyop's doleful voice from his wrist communicator, some minutes later, "But Phoenix… refueled. Going to start… charging docking fees soon if… we don't leave."

"Well, we can't leave," insisted Tiny, "Not without President Kane –or at least not without knowing where the heck he went. So just come back here, right?"

Keyop didn't reply, but made a rather high-pitched squawk.

"Keyop!" demanded Tiny, "What's going on?"

He didn't get an answer; in fact, Keyop had cut communication with him. Anxious, he began walking as briskly as he could towards the doors that led to the Spaceport's refueling area. But before he got there, Keyop reappeared, coming through the doors and somehow looking both relieved and scared.

And with him was Chief Anderson, frowning deeply.

Tiny was relieved; the presence of someone higher up meant he and Keyop could be off the hook now for solving the mystery of President Kane's behavior. But he was also worried –the Chief didn't look happy at all.

"What's this Keyop's been trying to tell me," demanded the Chief as soon as he was close enough, "President Kane just appeared on the Phoenix and ordered you to take him _here?"_

"Not here exactly," Tiny confessed even as his mind raced, trying to figure out what was really going on, "He wanted to go to the Carinae asteroid field but when we stopped here to refuel, he just took off when our backs were turned."

"I was just at the Carinae asteroid field," said Chief Anderson, holding his chin now with one hand and frowning even more deeply. "I did leave a message for President Kane that I was going there, but asked him not to let anyone else know, and that I would be incommunicado for reasons of necessary secrecy…"

He sighed. "If he's come looking for me in person like this, in can only be a matter of the upmost seriousness."

"He didn't look worried about anything!" insisted Tiny.

"Did say… was 'top secret,' though," Keyop added.

"Hmm," was the only reply the Chief made, but now he was looking all around the vast expanse of the common area

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Princess got off the elevator and practically dashed down the corridor to her hotel room. Not only had she left her prisoner bound with circulation-challenging tightness, she wanted some answers from her. Had she herself been in either Mark's or Jason's rooms last night and now was unable to remember it? The intense way that both Mark and Jason had been looking at her in the Security Center's meeting room left her filled with apprehension… What had she done?

Or not done? The Spectran imposter that she was about to confront _looked_ absolutely like her –could she have somehow been able to fool either Mark or Jason into believing she was really Princess?

Princess couldn't even decide which was worse –having visited either Mark or Jason in some kind of drug-induced state, possibly under some kind of mind-control from the imposter, and now having no clue what she might have said or done, or the imposter having visited one or both of them and been successful in fooling them…

What secrets about G-Force might they have imparted if they thought they were talking to the real Princess?

How had their civvies been taken from them –whether by her or the imposter- without them doing anything about it?

Why did Mark think she had "forgiven" him? She sure as hell wasn't in any mood to do that!

Why had Jason been looking at her in that… oddly vulnerable way when he'd first seen her in the meeting room?

The implications here, with either of them were… No –she wouldn't think about _that!_

At last, she was her door. "Unlock!" she gasped, shoving it open.

But the sight she encountered made her next breath catch in her throat.

 _Her prisoner was gone._

And so were Mark's and Jason's civvies that she had left on the bed.

 _Oh no…_ A cold wave of nausea swept through her.

How? Damn it, _how?_

The strips of sheet she'd used to bind her prisoner were lying on the carpet beside the bedpost, exactly where her prisoner had been. They weren't cut; the knots she'd tied were still fast…

But the imposter was somehow still gone…

And she'd stolen the G-Force civvies. Again!

"Stupid, so stupid!" She could feel tears in the corners of her eyes. She should never have let this happen?

But _how_ could she have known this would happen? How the hell did she get away?

And then it occurred to her that she hadn't looked in the bathroom…

Nothing there.

Or the closet…

When she opened the closet door, she nearly screamed.

Lying on the floor of closet, her head leaning awkwardly against one of its walls, was a young woman with light brown curly hair. She wasn't wearing anything except bra and panties.

And the utter stillness of her body and her vacant, unmoving eyes told Princess the worst before she'd even stooped and reached out a tentative hand to touch her.

This woman –whoever she was- was dead.

Before she'd even realized what she was doing, Princess had stood up again and was backing away from the closet. This woman must be another victim of the imposter –the imposter that had surely stabbed Agent Hannah to death too. Mark _never_ would have done that…

But Mark was now a prisoner in the Security Center, being blamed for it.

If she stayed here, she realized, she was all too likely to find herself being blamed for murdering _this_ woman. Hell, the true murderer, no doubt, looked exactly like her!

She had to get out of this room. Now!

The woman in the closet was beyond help. For all Princess knew, this dead woman was yet another Spectran agent, back-stabbed like Hannah had surely been, by a fellow Spectran agent -the agent who looked exactly like her.

Yes, she had to get out of here –and she had to find Mark's and Jason's civvies!

She ran for the door. But out in the corridor again, she forced herself not to run –that would just attract attention. Besides, as she walked slowly towards the elevator, she realized she didn't really know yet where she should go next.

0000000000

Keyop looked nervously at Chief Anderson, who was still turning about slowly and looking all around for President Kane. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to tell him that he and Tiny had already done all that to no avail. But he could, he thought, at least ask him a question.

"Why… were you at… asteroid field?"

The Chief stopped turning –maybe he'd figured out that his chances of spotting President Kane in the expanse of gardens, pools, fountains and crowds of milling people were so very low.

Looking first at Keyop and then Tiny for a long moment, he seemed to come to a decision and replied, "Twenty years ago, I was alone in a small spaceship, doing some scientific research, and I encountered a… phenomenon. It was utterly unlike _anything_ known to _any_ branch of science. And, it left a very unique and distinctive form of energy signature. Ever since then, I've had all of Zark's monitoring beacons, throughout the galaxy, set to search for that very same energy signature and for an automated alert to be sent to me –and _only_ to me- if it were ever detected anywhere again."

"Had you been in the Carinae asteroid field twenty years ago?" asked Tiny.

"No," said Chief Anderson, "It was another region of space entirely –nowhere near it at all. But I got the automated alert just after you had all completed the mission on Achernar and I had to leave Earth _immediately_ –this time it did happen in the Carinae asteroid field."

And, thought Keyop, you left without letting me know I'd need to find my own way back to Center Neptune after seeing the insect exhibit!

"What," asked Keyop, "So… important about… this 'phenomenon'?"

"That," replied the Chief, his face somehow managing to look still more grave, "Is one of the most highly classified secrets in the entire Federation. In fact, only I and President Kane currently know it."

Keyop and Tiny exchanged glances, both realizing that being G-Force apparently didn't mean they got to know everything.

"But it is vitally important to G-Force," the Chief added, starting to dart restless and anxious glances all around the common area again. "If President Kane has come here in person at a time like this, surely looking for me, it can't mean anything good…"

"Does any of this have anything to do with why you sent Mark, Jason and Princess here?" asked Tiny.

The mention of their absent teammates' names seemed to be a sudden prod to Chief Anderson's memory.

"Of course!" he muttered, "That business…"

He looked quickly at Tiny and Keyop, adding "Quick, try to contact them via their wrist communicators! I need to know what they've been doing."

0000000000

Barzok tried to keep his hands steady as he keyed in the code to unlock the door to the garage vault where his ship was docked, but he could practically feel Zoltar and his goons breathing down his neck.

He didn't need to feel their guns –he knew they were there.

And he couldn't think of anything to do about it. Damn it! He'd been so sure he could sell his fantastic cargo for a ton of money… And now Zoltar was just going to take it away and leave him nothing.

Damn it!

But the door was open now, and there was nothing to do but go inside and start walking towards his small spaceship, hearing the footsteps of his unwanted entourage tailing him closely.

No point in taking them into his ship's small cabin; he headed for the large bay doors in the rear of the ship that led to the cargo hold, punched in the key code and hit the "open" switch.

He just stood there, as the doors slowly began to slide apart, wondering if he were doomed to spend the rest of days as a penniless nothing, drifting around on the fringes of the big action but never allowed inside again. And once he had been so very powerful… It hurt to think about it.

Where the hell was Hannah? She was his only hope now. But she was probably sleeping off another hangover in her hotel room… Useless.

"So where," barked Zoltar, "Is this-"

And there it was…

The spherical, object that nearly filled the entire hold, made of seamless, almost fluid-like crystal, was still glowing and pulsing with flickers of bluish light from its interior, the long, thin peaks radiating from its surface waving, extending and contracting, barely perceptibly.

Perhaps not glowing as much as when he and Hannah had first found it, but nevertheless, it was still eerily fascinating and alien. _Where_ had it come from?

"Yes," said Zoltar quietly, after a moment of silence, "Definitely most interesting."

Barzok chanced a glance backwards, and saw that all the goons were open-mouthed as they stared. But Zoltar, still swathed in the concealing grey cloak but holding his wide-brimmed hat in his hand, was walking forward, passing right by Barzok and stepping up to enter the cargo hold.

"Men," barked Zoltar, "Obtain a transport lorry from this Spaceport's docking personnel. We will be moving this… thing, to our own ship –immediately!"

Two of the goons left, but three remained behind. Zoltar reached out a gloved hand and briefly touched one of the object's protruding peaks. He gasped slightly, pulling his hand back.

"Is it, can it be… alive?" he asked, but Barzok didn't answer. He stared down at his feet.

He didn't know; he didn't know what the thing was. He only knew that it wasn't going to be his for very much longer. Damn it.

"Where did it come from?" demanded Zoltar, turning now to look at him. The three goons drew closer to Barzok again, menacingly.

"You don't need to know that," said a voice – _Hannah's voice?_

Zoltar spun around hastily; Barzok lifted his head with a snap to stare into the back of the cargo hold, beyond the alien object, where the small door from the spaceship's cabin was sliding open. All they could see was the top of the door, but soon a woman stepped out from behind the object…

It was Hannah. For some strange reason, she was wearing the pale blue uniform of a Spaceport hotel employee –and it didn't fit her very well- but Barzok felt a rush of hope. She'd be bound to have a sneaky plan, a trick up her sleeve to thwart Zoltar and keep the alien object in their possession!

She paused, a few feet away from Zoltar.

"Well, well," he laughed –a cold laugh. "We meet again, Hannah. And here, I thought you were rotting away in a Federation Prison."

" _I_ broke her out of there," said Barzok.

"But I do not think that you, Hannah," added Zoltar icily, "Are in any position to tell _me_ what I do not need to know."

Hannah smiled as coldly as the Spectran leader. Barzok took heart –she must know something, something that Zoltar didn't and surely something that would get them out of this mess…

"I won't tell," she said, "But I will show."

As he, Zoltar and the goons all stared, Hannah's entire body began to shimmer with a silvery sheen and the surface of her body seemed to be undulating, as if she were fluid that somehow held a form.

"Hannah!" gasped Barzok. What the hell was she doing?

"What is she doing?" barked Zoltar, stepping hastily out of the spaceship's cargo hold as Hannah's silver, shimmering form stepped towards him.

But a moment later, the fluid sheen covering Hannah had faded and vanished and she looked normal again, standing at the edge of the cargo hold and looking down at all of them, a smirk on her face.

Barzok had no clue what she was doing –or how she was doing it- but he wasn't about to admit that to Zoltar. What was Hannah's plan here? What was she going to do to thwart Zoltar and keep the object in her and his possession?

Hannah calmly stepped down from the ship's cargo hold to the floor of the garage vault. The three goons stood tensely, clutching their guns. Zoltar backed up a couple steps to be closer to them.

"It doesn't matter where this object is from, only what it can do. And I have just shown you only a hint of what is possible. I know its secrets, Zoltar, and I am prepared to share them fully with you –on one condition.

Barzok's mind was spinning… This was the first time he'd been back to his spaceship since they'd docked; but now it seemed that Hannah had, in fact, been visiting the object very frequently! He tried to stifle his growing feeling of unease –something felt very wrong here…

Zoltar sneered. "You think you can demand any 'condition' here?" Yet it was clear that he was thoroughly intrigued and curious.

"All I ask," said Hannah smoothly, "Is that you take me back to Spectra and offer me sanctuary there. I have no wish to return to Federation space, and this Spaceport… is too small. I must move on."

Barzok nearly choked. She didn't have any plan to save their scheme -was going to sell him out and leave him behind!

"I wish to live now in the great Spectran Empire –it will suit me very well, and I guarantee I can make it worth your while. Without me, you will _never_ succeed in discovering the powers of which I have just shown you only a hint."

Zoltar brought one hand to his chin. "Is that so?" But he appeared to be seriously considering her proposal.

"I rescued your ass from that prison when Zoltar had forgotten you exist," snapped Barzok, no longer able to suppress his rage, "And _this_ is how you repay me? How can you even-"

Even as he lunged towards Hannah, the three goons seized hold of him and one of them swatted him across the mouth – _hard._

And in that moment, the garage vault's main doors began to slide open and a transport lorry drove through, with the other two goons in its driver compartment. Barzok winced in pain, and despair. He was going to lose everything. Again.

"I accept your offer," said Zoltar, "We will be leaving for Spectra very soon. Ours is an extremely large warship but it is disguised as a generic commercial freighter and has attracted no attention here. Let us keep it that way."

He turned to the goons in the lorry, brusquely instructing them to take the object to a special high-security section of the warship, and to keep it concealed from sight with tarps.

"I will join you on your ship, Zoltar, very soon," said Hannah, "There is one score I must settle, elsewhere on this Spaceport, before I leave." Her eyes narrowed and she scowled.

"You have one hour," replied Zoltar. Hannah nodded, going over to the two goons who were now studying the object as if deciding how best to move it into the transport lorry.

"What about me?" said Barzok, turning a pleading look to the Spectran leader. Despite Hannah's sudden treachery, he had one possible chance to come away from this mess in an improved situation.

"Sire! Take me back into your service as Spymaster –no one will ever do better work for you than I did. Forgive me, please!"

Zoltar stared at him for a moment, but his lip curled in contempt.

"You?" he snapped, "Hannah may have failed a mission and been imprisoned by the Federation, but _you_ , Barzok, schemed to supplant me as leader of Spectra –do you think I have forgotten _that?"_

"No, but I swear that I-"

"I have no use for you!" declared Zoltar, making an angry sweep with his arm.

One of the goons near the lorry suddenly protested "Hey!" and a second later, Hannah said, "I have no use for him either."

Barzok and Zoltar both glanced her way hastily, both realizing in the same instant that she was holding one of the goon's guns.

She was pointing it at Barzok.

"And," she added, "He knows too much about me and my plans."

"Hannah?" he cried, "Don't do this to me!" But her face, even though he had known her for years, now seemed like the face of a stranger. What had happened to the Hannah that he used to know?

That was Barzok's last living thought, as Hannah shot him in the head and he collapsed to the floor.

Zoltar was momentarily stunned but then laughed.

"I rather like your style, Hannah," he told her, "You might do very well indeed on Spectra."

Hannah didn't answer. She briefly went into the spaceship's small cabin and returned, still with the gun in her hand, and also holding a satchel that appeared to have some bulky contents.

"I will be on your ship in one hour," she said, looking to Zoltar, "I will return this weapon then."

She held up the gun briefly before putting it into the satchel and slinging it over one of her shoulders. Zoltar watched her walk out of the vault garage, and then began directing the goons who were to bring the mysterious object on board his own ship, instructing them to also stuff Barzok's body in one of the wall cabinets in the cargo hold before they departed.

0000000000

"It's no use, Chief," sighed Tiny, lowering his wrist from his mouth, "I can't get an answer from Mark."

The Chief didn't look happy to hear this. In fact, he looked seriously worried. What "phenomenon" could be so secret, Tiny wondered, that only Chief Anderson and President Kane would know about it, and what the heck did it have to do with Spaceport 5?

He still didn't actually know _why_ the Chief had sent Mark, Jason and Princess here either –though it must be related somehow.

Well, next in line was Jason. But when Tiny tried to contact his wrist comm., the result was the same –no answer.

Chief Anderson frowned, but didn't look so surprised.

"I'll try… Princess," said Keyop

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	9. Chapter 9

Princess sighed, pausing to sit on a couch in the hotel's lobby. She'd been all over the hotel, and seen no sign of the civvies-stealing, murderous Spectran agent who looked exactly like herself. Was there a way, she wondered, to start asking people "Have you seen anyone who looks just like me but isn't me?" without seeming like a nut? Claim she had twin sister she was trying to find? But she was worried about drawing attention to herself if there was a murderer in Spaceport 5 who looked just like her. She glanced around, at the people coming and going through the lobby, half expecting to be recognized and placed under arrest at any moment…

She leaned her head forward, resting it in her hands with her elbows on her knees, trying to massage away the ache behind her eyes. God, she felt like crap.

And this whole mission was turning into a complete disaster. How could they all be so off their game? They were G-Force –they were capable of so much better.

And to think, she'd been so eager to come to Spaceport 5, imagining she'd be dancing in the disco, spending time with Mark…

Mark. Her head seemed to hurt even more, thinking about him. And Jason. And the way they'd both been acting when she'd seen them at the detention center…

God, _what else_ had her evil doppelganger been doing last night? Or herself –she _still_ couldn't remember anything!

 _Damn._

It had sounded like an easy mission –just making inquiries, routine investigation. But now people were dead, Mark and Jason were in a jail cell and she'd let a Spectran agent steal their civvies.

She'd managed to get her shoe back, that time she'd lost it during that Spectran mastodon attack, but Chief Anderson had been so furious at her for losing it. He would surely _never_ forgive her this time.

She was so tired –tired of everything going wrong. Hell, tired of the whole war that had no end it sight. She could just stay here on this couch, and give up…

Snap out of it, she berated herself – _think_ , for once! Do _something!_

The enemy agent had two pairs of G-Force civvies, not to mention far too much information about the identities of three G-Force members.

 _Think._

The agent wouldn't have any real use herself for male civvies, or the information. No, she'd be seeking to pass them on to someone higher up in the Spectran chain of command. And whether she intended to leave the Spaceport, or to rendezvous with someone coming here, she'd most likely be where spaceships were arriving and departing…

Yes –that made sense.

And this theory was enough to get her standing up again, and moving for the hotel exit with a sign indicated it led to the Spaceport's docking area.

She was soon striding down a long corridor, careful to keep an eye on the people walking towards her and frequently looking behind her, but there were a _lot_ of people, all chattering loudly and heading in the direction of the hotel... Some incoming ship must have just disgorged its entire crew for a "shore leave" of sorts. She was moving against the flow, and getting jostled by the luggage many were toting. She moved closer to the side of the corridor, wondering if any of these new arrivals were coming to meet the Spectran agent and if she ought to be following them.

And then her left arm was seized - _fast_ \- and she was yanked, staggering, from the corridor, through an open doorway in the wall and then sideways. She caught a flash of a blue hotel employee's uniform, of pale brown curly hair, and a female face.

The noisy, excited crowd in the corridor hadn't even noticed; she couldn't see them now, but she could still hear them. She was in a dimly lit, alcove-like room, apparently used for holding luggage carts. She would have yelled, but for the feel of a gun's barrel shoved against the small of her back -that, and the smug whisper of " _And_ it has a silencer. One move, one cry, and _you_ are dead."

She couldn't transmute unless she first wrenched her arm free of the tight grip on it -and doing that might get her shot in the back. Her mind raced through her other options; breaking free of an armed captor was nothing new...

But her instincts were telling her that playing along, and playing for time might be the best tactic here. If she hadn't been shot, yet, then it might not be all that imminent. Maybe she could learn something. Like just who the hell this woman was.

The woman spoke again. "I'm going to release your arm, and _you_ are going to walk forward until you're in the back corner of this room. Then you may turn and face me. Again, any sudden movement _-any attempt to raise your left arm-_ or any shouting and I will shoot you."

Play along... Princess did as ordered. And she almost gasped when, now standing five feet away in the small room's innermost corner, she turned and saw the other woman's face.

She was dressed in the blue uniform of a hotel employee, and she looked identical to the dead woman she'd discovered in the closet of her own hotel room. She had her gun trained steadily on her. And what looked like a satchel of some kind over one shoulder.

 _Another_ look-alike? What the hell was going on here?

"Who are you?" said Princess, and her voice was a quiet growl.

The woman smiled.

"No organic could comprehend my true name, but you can call me 'Hannah,' if you like -I was in her form, after all, when you first saw me in the disco."

Her smirk widened.

"Or you could even call me 'Princess,' as I have been in _your_ form too."

 _What?_

"This form," she gestured at herself, "Her name is irrelevant. I won't be using it for long. She doesn't -hmm, _didn't-_ have any useful information encoded in her brain cells."

Princess tried to rally her thoughts and suppress the panic and confusion seeking to choke them out. Was this woman saying she was some kind of inorganic, mimicking, mind-reading... _shape shifter?_ Impossible... _right?_

What was in that satchel she was carrying, Princess wondered. It was the right size to be Mark's and Jason's civvies.

"How about I call you 'thief,' and 'murderer'?" said Princess.

"I am no thief!" said the woman -or whatever she was- with a sneer, and she briefly raised the shoulder that had the satchel's strap over it. "I am taking back what you organics have stolen from _us_ , stolen from _our_ dimension."

This was news to Princess! But in that moment she realized that she really knew nothing about how the transmutation process worked for their civvies -or their G-Force vehicles. Chief Anderson had never explained... Could this shape-shifter "woman," if that were what she truly was, be somehow telling the truth?

But I intend to remain here now," continued the woman, running her eyes up and down Princess' number 3 t-shirt and striped pants, "And the matter that you have stolen, it will enhance my strength here considerably, once I've absorbed it into my own matrix."

Of course, she wanted Princess' own civvies too.

From her position, Princess couldn't see out into the corridor, but it was silent out there now, the crowds gone. But the gun was still trained on her, and her captor's arm didn't waver.

"And, I've a particular score to settle with _you_." The "woman" was glaring at her now. "For your interference in my plans."

Right. For bashing her over the head and tying her up, Princess supposed.

"You _stupid_ organic girl," the "woman" was saying, her stare now more thoughtful, "Two such beautiful males, who both adore you, and yet you'd done nothing at all to enjoy it. So much pleasure, so much _sensation_ to be had in your organic forms, and you had done _nothing_."

"Yet they were stupid too," she continued, "They didn't want _me_. That night in the disco, their minds' active thoughts were all about you. I felt it all as soon as I'd touched them -that they were thieves, and filled with fascinating organic emotions about _you_."

Princess could only stare in horror. No, please let it not be so...

"Love?" she said, "Is that not the word you organics use for it?"

She smiled again, showing her teeth.

"I must say," she continued, never taking her eyes off Princess', "It felt _delicious_ , when I was in each of their beds, in each of their arms, and they each believed that I was you. That 'Mark,' he had only ever been with one woman, Hannah. Yet such _passion_. Mmm..."

Princess wanted to scream.

"Though of course, I had to punish them, for their indifference to me in the disco, and for possessing matter stolen from my kind."

She ceased smiling.

"But I didn't kill them -fear not. Not _them_."

Her face was hard, vindictive. And she still had the gun trained on Princess -on her head, to be more exact.

She was about to be shot. She had to act _now_.

And then a man's frame filled the doorway, and many things happened at once.

Princess recognized, with a stab of shock, that the man was President Kane. The "woman" briefly snapped her head in his direction and barked "Don't move or I kill this girl!"

President Kane said "You must stop this at once."

And Princess seized that instant to bang her wrist communicator, in two brief but hard movements, against the wall at her back.

An emergency signal. She knew Mark or Jason wouldn't be able to receive it if they weren't wearing their wrist communicators. But she had to try. At the very least, she'd leave a trail for someone to follow, after...

"This is no place for you," continued President Kane, "No place for our kind."

He was speaking to the "woman."

"You must return with me to the hyper dimension. At once."

At these words, the "woman" hissed, and recognition filled her widening eyes. But she still had the gun pointed squarely at Princess, her stare now flicking between her and President Kane.

If this really even _was_ President Kane. Could she trust _anyone_ to be who they seemed?

He was looking at Princess now, studying her clothes.

"You are with the number five and the number four, are you not?" he asked.

Did he mean Tiny and Keyop? Princess felt a rush of hope.

 _Were they here now too?_

0000000000

Even before Keyop could raise his wrist communicator to speak Princess' name, it began to flash. Two sudden flashes, that was all. But it was their G-Force emergency signal.

And it had come from Princess' wrist communicator.

Tiny and Chief Anderson saw it too -and recognized its significance. Tiny stared at his own wrist communicator -he'd picked up her signal too.

Chief Anderson's eyes moved swiftly, sweeping across the Spaceport's central common area.

"Princess... in trouble," said Keyop, "Got to... find her."

"Can you trace her signal?" said Chief Anderson, tension hardening his voice.

Keyop looked at Tiny, and saw concurrence in his expression.

"We can... find her," declared Keyop.

0000000000

"Yes," said Princess, staring at the man who _looked_ like President Kane... but probably wasn't. But the fact that he was telling the shape-shifter woman to stop what she was doing -namely, training a gun on her and threatening to shoot her- had to be a good sign.

"How did you find me?" the woman demanded, not looking at all happy at being found, and not stopping what she was doing either.

"When I acquired the information that your hyperpod had disappeared," said the "man," "I alone surmised that you had accelerated while close to an interstitial rift -for such rifts can and do occur- and that your hyperpod had torn through space-time and been stranded in this dimension."

"Is _that_ what happened to me?" said the woman, her eyes narrowing in thought, even as she kept her gaze on Princess, "How is that you alone understand this phenomenon?"

The "Kane" shape-shifter -for Princess had concluded that was what he was- didn't explain, but only said "And I alone understand how to return from here to our hyper dimension. You must stop whatever you are doing and come with me. _Now."_

The note of command in his voice was unmistakable. But the female shape-shifter raised her chin defiantly even as she continued to glare, and aim her gun, at Princess.

"What if I do not want to return?" she demanded.

Princess wished she could bang her wrist communicator against the wall a few more times, but she couldn't risk it with the shape-shifter woman looking at her. No, she realized, her best bet now was to stay quiet and see what played out between the two shape-shifters.

And hope that maybe Tiny and Keyop really were here too, somewhere...

"What do you mean? Of course you will return to your proper place," replied the Kane look-alike, "This dimension is no place for our kind -and you are clearly creating discord here-"

He gestured at the gun trained on Princess.

"-threatening a member of G-Force, a collective dedicated to the preservation of peace and order in this dimension, insofar as organics can be orderly. Their matrices, made of mere 'cells,' lack the clarity and scope of ours. They cannot absorb and retain data as we do, they process it so very erratically and they fixate upon chaotic sensory input of low nature at the expense of higher logic and knowledge."

"In other words," said the female shape-shifter, almost hissing, "They have _fun_ here! One is not ordered here -one of _us_ can do _anything._ And this 'G-Force'-" She waved her free hand towards Princess. "They have stolen from us!"

Again, thought Princess, she's calling us thieves. _What_ did she mean? Did she have Mark's and Jason's civvies in that satchel draped over her shoulder?

If she did, Princess knew that she had to get them back. Even if they had somehow been stolen from these shape-shifters, G-Force _needed_ them. Chief Anderson would never forgive her if she lost them...

"You do not have all the knowledge of this situation," replied the "Kane" shape-shifter, "What they possess was not stolen. I gave some of my very own matrix to an organic of this dimension known as 'Anderson,' in return for his assistance. You see, I too was once stranded in this dimension, just as you were, drifting helplessly in my hyperpod. Only with a massive expenditure of energy from Anderson's own vessel was I able to return through to the hyper dimension."

The female shape-shifter only stared incredulously. Princess realized that she was too. Was _that_ where their civvies and vehicles' transmuting powers came from? _Aliens from another dimension?_

"And," he continued, "In the time that has since passed, he has made use of it to supply G-Force with the means to do their good work. One with a matrix as dense as mine, accrued over many eons, can spare some without serious diminishment, though one as new as you could not. And G-Force works to thwart a large collective known as 'Spectrans,' who do much senseless harm and create terrible disorder here in this dimension."

There was a moment of silence, which "Kane" broke by adding "So, now you understand the true situation here. Come, we must leave. G-Force will assist us again to repower your hyperpod to return-"

But the female shape-shifter was laughing, and she still had the damned gun pointed straight at the pink "3" on Princess' chest.

"It is _you_ who do not understand. I am not returning to the hyper dimension. I am staying here and I will shortly be departing this spaceport with the Spectrans -they understand power _and_ pleasure. I will have both! Using them, I will rule this dimension!"

Princess gasped, even as the female shape-shifter clutched the satchel more closely to her shoulder and glared at her, taking aim with the gun...

Many things happened, quickly; Princess hurled herself sideways even as the trigger was squeezed, knowing that at this close range she'd never evade the bullet; and "Kane" cried "No!" and vanished in a flash of light only to instantly reappear directly in front of Princess but as if made entirely of blue, crystalline rock; and the bullet struck him instead and ricocheted away to embed in the alcove's far wall.

"How? _How_ are you able to do that?" The female shape-shifter's voice was high with rage.

Princess had landed on her side on the floor, hard. But relief and confusion drowned out the pain, and even as she moved to leap to her feet and the female shape-shifter turned to take aim at her again. But again, instantaneously, "Kane" vanished and reappeared at her side, this time in his regular form seizing hold of her arm and pulling the gun from her grip.

But he was still clutching the female's arm and as Princess stared at her face, she could see comprehension dawning in her eyes...

Whatever she hadn't known a moment ago, she knew it now.

She turned and gave a look of utter hate at "Kane."

"You should never have come looking for me -I _won't_ go back. And neither will you!"

For an instant, as "Kane" still held her arm, she glowed blue and then flashed a sickly green colour. "Kane" gasped in horror, letting go of her arm and staggering backwards. He crashed into Princess, who had just regained her footing. He was no lightweight and she hit the floor again, but at least he didn't land on her.

But the shape-shifting woman vanished in a flash of blue light. But unlike "Kane" had, she did not reappear. Or not anywhere where in this alcove room.

She was gone, and she'd taken the satchel with her. If it had indeed contained Mark's and Jason's civvies, then she was taking them to Spectra.

Princess scrambled to her feet, again, but froze. What to do? Where to go? She would have dashed out into the corridor but "Kane" was still lying on the floor, writhing in distress as green light continued to flicker through him and he briefly lost all semblance to President Kane and looked only like silvery-blue goo.

Shapes filled the doorway to the corridor; a voice cried "Princess!"

It was Keyop. And Tiny. And Chief Anderson.

The goo on the floor was slowly taking shape again, as they all stared...

It became a blandly middle-aged man, with smooth silver hair, dressed in plain dark clothes. He slowly stood up, as if weak and uncertain of his balance.

Princess looked to the others. There was a faint look of recognition in Keyop's face, but it paled in comparison to Chief Anderson's.

He and the shape-shifter stepped towards each other.

"We meet again, my friend," said the shape-shifter.

"I must admit I never thought we would," said Anderson, looking slightly dazed, "But I am glad to see you. A monitoring beacon in this region of space detected an energy signature, just like the one you'd made twenty years ago. I couldn't be sure it was you, but I had to know for sure. If the... wrong people had found you first, adrift, they wouldn't have helped you return to your dimension, but rather-"

"I saw... him!" piped up Keyop, causing everyone to stare, "At Federation Headquarters... Earth."

"What?" Chief Anderson frowned, looking to the bland, silver-haired man.

"And he's not the only one of his kind here," said Princess hastily, "There was another one -she was just here- and she's seriously bad news!"

 _There was so much bad new she was going to have to explain_...

Anderson glanced from Keyop to her, and back to the alien man, who was now holding up one hand apologetically.

"The number three is correct," he told Anderson, "The energy signature that you detected was indeed caused by a hyperpod tearing through an interstitial rift, as happened to me before, but this time it was another of my kind, not I, who became stranded here. I now, alone of my kind, know how to enter your dimension at will. I had vowed to keep to my own dimension -my kind does not belong in yours, nor you in ours- but I had learned that one of my kind, one of our youngest, had gone missing and I realized what must have happened."

"He was disguised as President Kane," said Princess, "Until just a moment ago, when you, Tiny and Keyop got here."

Anderson's sudden intake of breath was audible.

"You mean it was never President Kane at all that Keyop and I brought here? It was you?" demanded Tiny, looking angry, "Why did you lie to us? What have you done to the real Kane?"

There was a moment of silence -everyone was processing the revelations...

"Why... did you... make emergency signal?" said Keyop, at last, glancing at Princess but then staring suspiciously at the alien man.

"I must explain," said the man, holding up his hand again, looking at Chief Anderson, "I have done no harm to the real President Kane -he is well and, I believe, was en route to the planet known as Arcturus when I last saw him. I shook hands with him, and through that contact I was able to learn some of his knowledge, encoded in his brain cells, of G-Force and of you, Anderson, and I was also able, later, to take on his form. This should not shock you, that my kind can do this. It is clear to me that you have learned how to make use of the shape-shifting properties, at least, of the matter that I bestowed upon you in gratitude for your assistance to me, the matter that was part of my own matrix, for your G-Force people-"

He gestured at Tiny, Keyop and Princess.

"They use it in their uniforms and in the ship that is called the Phoenix."

Princess looked at Tiny and Keyop and saw that their expressions looked as bemused as hers probably did. All this time, and they'd no idea how the transmutation process worked...

But they knew a lot more about it now! She recalled how this alien had briefly been silvery goo on the floor, right before Anderson, Tiny and Keyop had run into the room. Was some of that very goo inside the fabric of her civvies -of all their civvies- right now? It was such a bizarre thought...

"You're correct," said Anderson, "I did use your gift to me, all of it, to bestow powers that are unique in this entire dimension upon the uniforms, weapons and vehicles of G-Force. I used _all_ of it -and there was just enough for the Phoenix and for five teammates."

And in that moment, it dawned on Princess that she now knew the true reason why there was only one G-Force team, and only five people on it.

And why the Chief had really been so infuriated with her that time she'd lost her shoe.

There was no way, within this entire dimension, that her shoe could have been truly replaced.

"I came to this dimension to find the one of my kind who had gone missing, but also to see you and to see how you had fared," continued the alien, "And because I believed that I might need your help in finding her. I can tell -we all can- when I am in proximity to another of my kind, but only within short distances and not so easily. When I looked for you, you were already gone from the Federation headquarters on Earth, and no one knew where you had gone -no one except President Kane knew that you had gone to the Carinae asteroid field. I was also able to absorb that bit of his knowledge during our handshake. I then determined that if I asked the number five and the number four to take me there too, in the Phoenix, that they would do so as long as I looked like President Kane, so I mimicked his form. But I assure you, I meant no harm to you or any of your people!"

It was Anderson's turn to hold up a hand, saying "I believe you, believe that your intentions are only good."

But he didn't know what the other alien from that dimension was like, realized Princess -or what she'd done!

"The other one," she cut in, looking at the alien, "The one you're here to find and take back -she's been doing terrible things!"

Images flashed through her mind -the syringe on her night table, Hannah's sheet-draped body being taken from Mark's hotel room, Mark and Jason in a jail cell, the dead woman she'd found in her own room's closet, the horrible things she'd said about pretending to be her in order to seduce Mark _and_ Jason...

And the civvies that she'd stolen from Mark and Jason -that she was now going to take with her to Spectra!

"The way you... teleported," blurted out Princess, staring intently at the alien. "Can you do that again? Now? You said you could sense the proximity of one of your kind -can you jump to wherever she is now and stop her?"

Her voice was getting a touch too high, revealing her anxiety.

"What sort of 'terrible things'?" demanded the Chief.

"Where are Mark and Jason?" asked Tiny, looking apprehensive.

"I... cannot detect her location that well, I am afraid," said the alien, looking only at Princess. "And I can only 'teleport,' as you call it, to known locations that I am able to visualize. It will not help me find where she is on this spaceport. And I have made a grave error, making contact with her to take the gun away from her when she threatened you. She was able to read that part of my matrix wherein lies my knowledge of how to teleport. Now she can do it too."

"But..." Princess glanced from Keyop to Tiny before turning towards Chief Anderson. She didn't want to meet his eyes, but she had to tell him.

"She's stolen Mark and Jason's civvies. She tried to steal mine-"

"What?" The Chief's eyes widened briefly in horror before settling into a stern glare. "How did that happen? Where is she-"

"We don't _know_ where she is!" said Princess, feeling her voice edging into panic again, "Only that she said she's going to go join... the Spectrans."

 _"What?!"_ This time Tiny and Keyop's voices joined the Chief's.

"I thought she was Spectran, at first," continued Princess, staring down at her feet, "She tried to steal my civvies too, but she's been disguising herself -as me, as Agent Hannah, as some woman who's dead now in my hotel room. She could look like _anyone_ by now!"

She had to face the Chief. She squared her shoulders, looking up to see his jaw clenching even as he muttered "If the Spectrans get our transmutation technology..."

The male alien briefly glowed a sickly green and staggered, dropping to one knee and drawing everyone's attention away from her -for that she was grateful.

"Are you all right?" asked the Chief, moving towards him but already the alien was standing upright again, the greenish sheen gone.

"I am fine, do not worry," he said, though his eyes were closed and he was holding his hands together.

It was enough of a pause for Princess to rally her thoughts... She'd initially been heading for the docking area in hopes of locating there the presumed agent of Spectra who'd stolen Mark's and Jason's civvies. And now she remembered something that the female alien had said, right in this room...

 _"I will shortly be departing this spaceport with the Spectrans."_

"The female alien," she said, excitement replacing her misery as she realized all might not be lost, yet. "She said she was going to be leaving this spaceport with the Spectrans -soon! She'll be in the docking area -there must be a Spectran ship of some kind there. We have to go there _now!"_

The Chief didn't say anything but he looked like he saw the sense of this. She turned immediately to the male alien. He was still just standing there with his eyes closed.

"You'll help us, won't you? Help us search for her?"

He didn't seem to hear her at first but then he replied, looking at her intently.

"Yes."

That was good enough for her. But the Chief was saying "There has to be dozens of ships docked here, arriving and leaving all the time. How will we know-"

But Tiny cut in, "I think I know."

As all eyes looked his way, he looked to Keyop. "Remember that big ship that was right ahead of us in the queue for refueling, when we arrived? I couldn't tell where it was from, it was so generic."

"A little too generic," he added pointedly, "Especially for its size. The more I think about it, the more that seems to me like a ship that was disguised..."

"You need to show me that ship, if it's still here!" There was _no_ time to waste. "Everyone -the docking area is this way." She ran out into the hall.

They all followed her, even the alien. But the Chief, even as he kept up with her walk that was almost a run, was saying "You still haven't told us where Mark and Jason are!"

Damn... And she sure didn't want too.

"Later!" she said, "I'll explain later. We have to hurry!"

They arrived, out of breath, in the docking area just minutes later, and Tiny and Keyop spotted the mysterious ship in question... through a massive window looking out into space. It was clear of the spaceport, and gliding away into the starry blackness.

"How can we tell if she's on it?" Princess was almost snarling. She would have had to get Mark and Jason's civvies back, no matter _how_ they'd gone missing, but the fact that it was _that_ woman who'd stolen them...

No way in hell was she going to let her get away with what she'd done!

Frantically she turned to the male alien. He was shimmering faintly green again, head bowed and eyes closed, seeming to waver unsteadily on his feet. But no time to inquire about that.

"You said you have some ability to sense the proximity of one of your own kind - can you tell if she's on that ship?" she demanded.

"I sense that she is," he replied, "We must follow them in the Phoenix."

"We might not be able to," said Tiny, mouth tight, "As soon as they're clear of the Spaceport's perimeter -and I'd guess they're almost there -they'll likely jump to warp speed immediately and then we'll be lucky if we _ever_ find that ship again."

They all paused, staring out into space at the massive, nondescript ship that was getting away...

And the male alien collapsed to the floor with a cry.

Even as they all knelt in a cluster around him, he was shimmering more, and then his extremities were dissolving into shining, liquid goo that gave off that same sickly green color.

"What is happening to you?" said Chief Anderson, "What are you doing?"

But the alien wasn't looking at him; he was looking at Princess. In a strained, gasping voice he spoke to her.

"I am, as you organics would term it... dying."

"Dying?" How could this be? Why now? They _needed_ his help!

"We... have no... murder," he continued, seemingly straining to retain his torso and head in solid form even as the rest of him became a liquid pool on the floor beneath him. "Never, in all the eons... of known existence. The ultimate act of mindless unreason... And yet she..."

Princess remembered the female alien's words right before she'd disappeared.

 _"You should never have come looking for me -I won't go back. And neither will you!"_

She'd been holding the male alien's arm, then he'd collapsed, crashing into Princess and knocking her down.

"Did _she_ do this to you?"

"Yes... a denaturing impulse sent through my matrix... by her. It's cascading, replicating... like a, a virus. I am unable... to stop its damage."

She knew so little about this alien and nearly nothing about the dimension he came from, but she could tell he was... good. And that he was telling her the truth. She might not understand this form of death -maybe the Chief didn't either- but he wasn't lying about "dying."

And he'd sacrificed himself, it was all too clear, in the act of saving her from being shot by that female, alien _murderer._

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the gleam of the spaceport lights against the mysterious but certainly Spectran ship that was still moving away, taking her away to Spectra...

"Princess, I honestly don't think we can now, no matter how fast we leave here," groaned Tiny, "They got too much of a head start. They could hit warp any moment now.

"I... I can get you onto that ship," gasped the alien, even as even more of his torso subsided from solid to silvery goo. He was looking into her eyes.

"What?" she whispered.

The Chief looked as confused as she. "What do you mean? How?" he was asking.

But the alien kept speaking to her.

"I can jump... teleport, to that ship from here. I can see it, I can do it. It will be nearly the very last thing I do, but I can do it... before I lose all knowledge and awareness of sentient existence."

She was about to ask what he would be able to accomplish there if he indeed could "teleport" to the Spectran ship, but his next words silenced her.

"I will be able to encase you, coat you and surround you with my matrix. I can teleport you onto that ship, with me. But we must do it now. I have little time left."

Everyone gasped, except her. She couldn't seem to even breathe.

"It is the only way that you can stop her, and take back from her the gift that I gave to Anderson. And she must be stopped. Her... evil, it knows no limits -I see that now, too late."

Princess thought again about the real Hannah's stabbed body being taken from Mark's hotel room, about Mark and Jason in that jail cell and framed for murder, about the dead woman she'd found in her closet, about the female alien seducing Mark _and_ Jason while pretending to be her...

Before anyone -even the Chief- could say anything, before she could start to think about how insane of a plan it surely was, she replied.

"Let's do it."

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	10. Chapter 10

It seemed instantaneous. One moment she had been standing, near a window in the spaceport's docking area, as Chief Anderson, Tiny and Keyop all stared at her with anxious eyes and the alien dissolved into shining, faintly greenish goo at her feet and then began to defy gravity and rise up to flow all over her, coating her completely. She'd nearly panicked, almost screamed, just before her face was covered, but had forced herself to take one last gasp and then close her mouth and eyes...

The next moment, she was... here. Where was "here"? The goo was falling away from her face, running down her body in thick rivulets and pooling at her feet. Damn it -she was still in her civvies! She glanced around hastily. She was in some kind of small shipboard docking bay, a narrow room with the Spectran demon symbol on the far wall, marking the large exit door to space. It was completely empty, but for one thing sitting near the exit door. It was the strangest object she'd ever seen.

It was taller than her, spherical, and appeared to be made out of some crystal stuff, but blue light moved through it in random swirls. All over its surface, needle-like tendrils of differing lengths protruded and they seemed to almost be moving, growing longer and shorter. Its utterly alien appearance, made of moving, glowing crystal, made her realize it could only be a thing of the aliens she'd so recently encountered.

And it came to her then, as she recalled the male alien's mention of a "hyperpod." That was what she must be looking at -the vessel in which the female alien had accidently ended up in this dimension instead of the one she was supposed to be in.

The male alien was still just a puddle on the floor. Was he... dead? How was she going to get out of here and back to the spaceport? They hadn't discussed _that_ part of the plan!

She pulled her arm up before her face and said "Transmute!" Seeing the flash of light and feeling her civvies change into her G-Force uniform always calmed her, made her feel stronger.

She was going to need to be strong.

"Number three," whispered a voice from below, "Princess..."

She stared down at a face that was taking shape in the midst of the puddle of goo, the same bland, middle-aged face the male alien had used earlier. He wasn't dead -she felt a rush of relief- he was taking shape again.

But he wasn't, she realized. He got no further than shaping a face; the rest of him remained sickly green liquid. She knelt down closer, to better hear him.

"The longest tendrils on the hyperpod," he continued, "If you pull on them with your hands, it will open up for you."

"How are you doing?" she asked him, "Are you..." She faltered.

"Still dying, yes," he replied, his expression serious, but calm. "I will fight as long as possible to keep enough of my matrix intact to..."

A quiver ran through the puddle, making his face ripple too.

"To be able to talk to you. But I fear you will need this hyperpod now, and not me, to be able to leave this ship. I will teach you what you need to know in order to use it."

She slowly stood up, looking warily at the hyperpod. How did it work? Would there even be breathable air inside of it?

But as she swept her eyes over the hyperpod's surface she could see three tendrils, grouped closely together, that were somewhat longer than the others. She walked towards them, apprehension still slowing her pace. The male alien's face dissolved away within the puddle that was him, but he flowed along the floor beside her.

She was glad her hands were gloved now, as she reached for the three tendrils, cupping them and pulling them together. Who knew what kind of strange, mind-warping properties this bluish crystalline stuff might have? Despite what the alien had told her, she remained uncertain the hyperpod would open for her, a human.

But the tendrils, and the region around them, accepted her touch -glowing more brightly- and an opening appeared in the side of the hyperpod, expanding until it was big enough for her to get inside, though she had to stoop to peer into the hyperpod's interior.

It was roomy enough inside for her, and its interior surface was traced by lines and conduits of pulsing light. Were those its controls, she wondered, staring at them in incomprehension. How would she ever manage to use them?

But her gaze then fell on one object, tucked into a nook in the hyperpod's interior, that she understood all too well.

It was the satchel the female alien had been carrying. Princess lunged for it, yanking it close to her chest and backing out of the hyperpod as quickly as she could. The male alien was still a puddle on the floor outside the hyperpod's door but even as she pulled open the satchel and found Mark and Jason's civvies inside it, his face took shape again from the greenish liquid.

"I found them!" she told him, "It's what she stole from me!"

She was grinning vindictively, she realized. The female alien had gone and made the very same mistake that she herself had made earlier when she'd left Mark and Jason's civvies in her hotel room, thinking no one could possibly take them.

"That is good," said the male alien, looking up at her.

Was he shining a little less brightly now? Her grin faded. She needed to leave this Spectran ship as quickly as possible. Tiny had been certain it would go to warp imminently and it would be a hell of a lot easier to find her way back to the spaceport if she could get off this Spectran ship before that happened, especially if she were going to be travelling in that bizarre hyperpod. Sadly, it seemed unlikely the male alien was going to last long enough to be able to teach her much about how to operate it.

A thought darted into her head, restoring her smile.

It would only take a minute or so to plant some of her most powerful explosive charges in the vicinity of this docking bay...

Was Zoltar on this ship? She could only hope, but even if he weren't, blowing up that thieving, impersonating, murdering female alien would be _very_ satisfying.

She quickly explained her plan to the male alien, telling him she'd only be gone briefly, and would be ready to leave the ship as soon as she returned.

"She will only bring chaos and havoc to your dimension," he replied, "and it is too late now for me to take her back to our dimension. Yes, reason dictates that you must do this."

His face dissolved into liquid again as she turned away, heading for the door out of the docking bay and into the rest of the ship. She took no chances that it would lock behind her and she left it slightly ajar. She kept the satchel with her too, over one shoulder, taking no chances that Mark and Jason's civvies would get stolen _again_ in her absence.

Thinking of the faintly glowing puddle that was the male alien, it occurred to her that now she understood how the female alien had likely escaped the ropes that she had bound her with in the hotel room.

"I will never assume _anything_ again," Princess muttered, "Certainly not that someone I tie up couldn't possibly dissolve into goo and get away."

Leaving the docking bay as surreptitiously as she could, she found herself in section of wide corridor, lined on one side with doors like the one she'd just exited. There was no one in sight, at least for now. She wasted no time opening up some removable wall panels, where she was pleased to see what looked like important primary wiring and other conduits, and placing all her explosive charges, set to maximum detonation

She wanted to leave this ship as soon as possible, but she also was going to need a lesson from the male alien about how to launch and guide the hyperpod...

She set all the timers for ten minutes, praying that he was a quick teacher.

She heard the sounds of footsteps now coming from beyond a corner in the corridor, many of them and heading her way. Spectran soldiers' boots -she was all too familiar with that sound. Princess closed her belt pouch and moved quickly and quietly back to the door to the docking bay containing the hyperpod.

This ship still hadn't gone to warp yet. Time to leave!

She pushed the ajar door open, stepping back into the docking bay. The hyperpod was still at the far end of the bay, near the exit door. She didn't see the male alien's puddle-

That was all she had time to notice before someone was suddenly behind her, seizing her wrist to bend her arm up behind her back and shoving her forward.

Princess staggered, but regained her footing just as her wrist was released. Clutching the satchel tightly, she spun around to see Agent Hannah facing her, glaring.

And about a dozen machine-gun wielding Spectran soldiers were pouring into the docking bay and taking up flanking positions behind the female alien, guns ready and aimed at Princess.

But of course this wasn't really Hannah, it was the female alien, and she was still wearing the blue hotel uniform she'd had on when she'd been impersonating the dead employee, though it didn't fit her very well.

"There are hidden security cameras in the docking bays of this ship," hissed the female alien, "Were you too stupid to realize your presence in here would be seen by me?"

Some part of Princess' mind certainly knew she should be assessing the situation at once, immediately launching an attack plan.

But staring at "Hannah," all she could think about was watching her trying to climb all over Mark in the disco last night, and what she'd said to Princess while in the other female form, in the luggage cart alcove...

 _It felt delicious, when I was in each of their beds, in each of their arms, and they each believed that I was you. That 'Mark,' he had only ever been with one woman, Hannah. Yet such passion. Mmm..._

Her own glare met the female alien's and Princess was sure that the alien was seeing just as much personal _hate_ in hers as she was seeing in "Hannah's" blue eyes. More, even.

She moved her hand for her yoyo -she didn't care what might happen if all the soldiers opened fire on her! Her uniform would protect her from the bullets. Or, well, _most_ of them-

The female alien was damned fast. She lunged for the satchel strap over Princess' shoulder and almost got it but Princess had moved just enough that the alien ended up grabbing only her upper arm instead. She felt the alien's fingers dig into her skin, but nothing was stopping Princess now from punching her in the face-

Nothing except that suddenly Princess was hit with a rush of scenes, images, like memories except they couldn't be _her_ memories, flooding into her mind with paralyzing intensity. Touch, scent, smell, taste, sound -all of it, far more vivid than any real memories could be...

She was whispering to Jason, "Make me feel, everything I've missed. Make me feel alive…" Oh my God, it was her -but it wasn't her- and she was in his bed, in his arms, he wasn't wearing _anything_...

And still more of the "memories" were surging into her brain to the exclusion of all else. Her eyes were open but barely focused. The painful grip of the alien's fingers was hardly registering though she had to be practically gouging her-

Other, different memories also erupting in her mind -she was with Mark, telling him "I'm here, and you're here. That's all we ever need. _This is perfect, Mark."_ Mark was kissing her, Mark was- They were-

 _He loved her._

Mark...

And Jason. Both of them in her head. Just as if she'd lived it herself. And it was...

Utterly entrancing, gut-wrenching. Totally overwhelming.

She couldn't move. Couldn't shake off the vise-like grip on her arm. And the Spectran soldiers were beginning to close in on her.

A vestige of a thought flickered through her storm of sensory overload, but she couldn't grasp it... Something about "ten minutes."

0000000000

Jason heard rather than saw Mark reentering the detention cell from yet another attempt to contact Chief Anderson, the guard leaving, and the door sealing behind him. Sitting still on a bench was driving him nuts now but there was no room to pace properly in the cell (and even if there had been, having to pace while wearing a _towel like a skirt_ would have just made him angrier), so he'd settled, some time ago, for leaning against a wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. Kicking the wall might have been some relief, but he didn't have his shoes either.

"Anything?" he asked, his voice flat.

"Zark still hasn't located him," was Mark's equally flat reply.

Jason kept his eyes shut, still seething; he didn't want to look at him.

At least now he knew where his shoes were -and the rest of his civvies; Princess had told him that she had them. Apparently she had Mark's too, and as far as Jason could tell from the few terse responses Mark made to his earlier inquiries, that was _all_ she told Mark before she'd gone storming off, barely a minute after she'd shown up at the detention center. So, he was still wearing the purple shirt and the towel and Mark was still wearing the bathrobe, and Jason hadn't had a chance to tell her about the meeting he'd scheduled for today with the dark-haired, mustached guy he'd met in the disco that knew Agent Hannah.

So he was still in this cell, useless and pathetic-looking, and still having missed his appointment with the only useful lead any of them had found for the mission they were supposed to be doing at this spaceport.

And it was all Mark's fault they were in this cell! And no doubt Mark's fault that Princess had taken off so quickly -she was probably still so upset with him, she couldn't stand looking at him. And she could possibly have subbed in for Jason at the meeting at the cafe, but it was too late for that now.

Princess... Images from the previous night, with her, flickered through his mind again, as they had been all day, catching his breath each time. He could hardly believe it had really happened, but it had. But during their all-too-brief moment in the meeting room, she'd looked distressed, even confused.

Hell, he was confused too. He couldn't say where he and Princess would go from here. Maybe nowhere, if she did feel it had been a mistake...

But even so, there would be no denying that a change had taken place; things could never be exactly the same again. Even with no one knowing but the two of them, even if they never talked about it, a connection would exist between them that hadn't been there before and even that could subtly change the intra-team dynamic.

And as far as he was concerned, any change could only be an improvement. If she'd wised up enough to lose her starry-eyed adoration of the G-Force Commander and see that he _wasn't_ perfect -despite what Anderson, Zark, or the makers of those damned propaganda vids seemed to think- then maybe the next time he, Jason, suggested a mission strategy, she'd back him on it. Just that could be enough to shift the dynamic slightly.

And it was even possible... maybe, she'd come to feel that last night wasn't a mistake. He'd pretty much given up hope of any real relationship with a woman so long as the war was on and he was in G-Force. But then, he'd never thought about himself and Princess, together -not really.

He opened his eyes and found himself glaring at the main reason he'd been unable to believe that could ever be possible.

Mark.

He looked like he was also seething, or brooding, leaning against the wall with one arm but his eyes met Jason's.

"What?" snapped Mark, "I don't want to be here any more than you do! I'm trying to get us out of this mess -what do you expect me to do?"

A rare show of temper from the Commander. Maybe he should have felt for him, Jason thought. Mark's jaw was tight, his dark-circled eyes locked in a scowl. Jason was all too familiar with the frustration that came from wanting to take action but being stymied by the wills and whims of others. But anger -anger that had been building up inside him for months, even years- overrode any feelings of sympathy. He could sense that Mark was fraying here and he just had to push...

"You could start by admitting that this is all your fault -that _you_ screwed up here!"

"You'd enjoy that, would you?" Mark stood up straight now, fists clenched.

"Yeah, I would, actually -a little balance restored to the universe!" Jason took a step closer to Mark.

"Are you saying that _I_ don't take responsibility for screw-ups?"

"You sure as hell like to hog the credit for all our successes! How lucky for you, _this_ mission isn't being filmed for a propaganda vid!"

Mark just stared at him, outraged, but his face was flushed.

"All anyone ever hears about G-Force is how glorious its Commander is, and boy, you must enjoy that! Or maybe they've heard of Princess -you like to trot her out on your arm when it suits you! But hey, now you've screwed things up with her too, haven't you? That's what you get for just taking her for granted!"

Even as he spoke, Jason was aware that now he was _really_ pushing... But it was like a dam breaking inside; he couldn't seem to stop himself. He and Mark were now standing only a few feet apart, eyes locked in a mutual glare. Mark was just spluttering in indignation, but then he found his voice.

"You have _no_ goddamned idea what you're talking about!"

"Oh right, 'cause only the _Commander_ can know anything-"

"Shut up -just shut up! You have no idea what kind of crap I have to deal with, how much I'm getting leaned _on all the time_ to pull off victories for the Federation and how much flack I catch if we don't! Trust me -you don't _want_ to be the G-Force Commander!"

This wasn't a tack that Jason had expected Mark to make, but even as he frowned he snapped back at him.

"I'd rather find that out for myself -not that that'll ever happen!"

"You should be grateful! You don't have to read and reply to all the classified communiqués I get from Kane and Federation brass every week, demanding to know why we can't magically predict and then be where the Spectrans will attack next, or why G-Force costs the Federation so much money but we keep failing to capture Zoltar -though, of course, we'd better keep making them and Galaxy Security look good on the FNN news!"

What? Jason was momentarily taken aback. "They ask you about stuff like _that_?"

"They ask me stuff like that to my face too -I have to attend their secret meetings." Mark clutched at his hair with one hand. "Think it's fun or _glorious_ having to make excuses, come up with explanations, while they all stare at you?"

"Bloody hell, they've got some nerve! Don't they-"

"Jason, they're getting _desperate._ This war with the Spectrans is a massive money suck that's gone on way too long -all the planets in the Federation are taxed heavily for the defense budget and lots of them are starting to get fed up and restless. Look at that situation with Achernar a few days ago -you think that's the only planetary government with people looking to try to cut a private deal with the Spectrans and opt out of the Federation's war?"

"Surely Anderson sticks up for _you_. Doesn't he have your back?"

"He does, but he's catching a lot of flack too. The R&D it took to get us all implanted, to develop all our technology, and the cost of maintaining the Phoenix -it's _expensive_ , especially with all the extreme secrecy involved. But then they're on his case that he's only developed _one_ G-Force team. 'Why can't you make more?' they demand."

Suddenly Jason wondered why he himself had never thought to ask that, and realized that he and Mark had both stopped yelling, and glaring, at each other.

"Why _aren't_ there more G-Force teams than just us? It would sure be nice to not be spread so thin."

"I've asked the Chief that too -trust me- but I've never gotten a good answer; he won't talk about it -too 'top secret' for me, it seems. President Kane's about the only one who doesn't ask about that -I think _he_ knows something."

Jason took a few deep breaths. This was a new perspective on things; all the anger and frustration he'd been feeling for so long seemed...

He stared pointedly at Mark again. "You could have _explained_ all this to me -to all of us. You could have let us in on what's really going on. I don't appreciate being kept in the dark!"

Mark raised his shoulders slightly. "I'm the Commander, for better and worse. I can deal with the 'worse' myself, so no one else has to."

"I say that's one decision you don't get to make for us!" Jason felt his temper rising anew. "And Princess, I don't think she appreciated being kept in the dark about you and Agent Hannah!"

"You don't know-" began Mark, jaw tight.

"-Yeah, and neither did Princess. Let me guess, that was all _for her own good_ and not just so you could keep stringing her along?"

He'd hit a nerve, big time, with that one; Mark's eyes blazed but he didn't move.

"You don't know anything about Princess!"

"I know more than you realize!" Even as the words left his mouth, a part of Jason's mind wished they hadn't. Too late...

"Yeah? Agent Hannah last year -a huge screw up on my part, I admit that! _I_ never said I was perfect! Princess forgives me."

"Forgives you? Looks to me like she could barely stand to be in the same room with you, the way she took off so fast from here earlier. Maybe she found out Hannah was in your room last night too?"

"Like I said before," Mark was really yelling now, "I never let Hannah into my room last night -I don't know how she ended up in there!"

There was anguish in Mark's eyes, and Jason realized he did actually believe him. But now Mark was scrutinizing him...

"What's all this to you anyway? Don't tell me that you're thinking this is somehow your chance to move in on Princess!"

"All I'm thinking -and saying," growled Jason, "is that _you don't own her_."

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	11. Chapter 11

Something about "ten minutes."

Princess couldn't move. She was stunned almost to paralysis by the shock of her mind being flooded by a massive wave of stunningly detailed memories -and memories that weren't even her own but yet were _of_ her. Her, with Jason, and then Mark.

Wonderful... and horrifying. She'd never do that! _Both_ of them? But _she_ hadn't done that -it hadn't really been her at all! But both of them had believed it was her, believed it utterly.

It was _more_ than just the alien imposter's memories that she was being bombarded with -the alien had been sensing -reading- Jason's and Mark's thoughts, knowing things they thought and felt, just by the fact that she'd been touching them. All she needed to do in order to get into someone's thoughts, memories and knowledge was simply to touch them, and the longer she did, the more she learned.

The ramifications of everything were now deluging her brain... too much to comprehend at once, though her mind was trying... and failing. She couldn't think, couldn't move. She was frozen, only dimly aware that someone was clutching her upper arm, pushing her...

And a tiny, nagging thought about "ten minutes." Something that was going to happen in ten minutes.

The female alien's face hovered blurrily before her, smirking, and beyond her, Spectran soldiers loomed all around. The grip on Princess' arm was painful, with sharp points digging into her skin, yet Princess felt paralyzed -inside she was screaming at her arm to yank away from the pain. Her feet managed small, shuffling steps backwards but her arm didn't seem to be getting any message at all, and remained limp at her side...

WHAM!

Princess staggered backwards, almost falling. A set of heavy metal doors had slammed down from above, inches from her face. Even as she stared in bewilderment at the grey metal filling her vision, she realized the painful grip on her upper arm was gone, realized that the female alien and all the Spectran soldiers were now on the opposite side of the doors...

All except the arm.

Gasping in revulsion, Princess jerked back even further from the doors. Lying now on the floor of the docking bay was the female alien's arm -the arm she had been using to grasp hold of her own upper arm and bombard her mind- now severed from the alien, leaking blood.

Her thoughts raced -but clearly now, with her mental havoc dissipating rapidly. On Federation ships, it was common for docking bays that opened to the vacuum of space to have a secondary set of doors, further inside the docking bay, that could be deployed if the primary set failed to close or were damaged.

Clearly this ship had them too, and somehow they had just been deployed right at the moment when they would fall directly between her and the female alien,

The severed arm on the floor was moving. Princess barely suppressed a shriek and moved to kick it away before realizing that it wasn't actually moving -it was beginning to shimmer with a silvery sheen, and to melt from solid to liquid form.

She thought she could faintly hear banging noises on the other side of the secondary doors. Were the Spectran soldiers shooting at them, or trying to cut through them?

How had this happened? Where was the male alien? He'd been a puddle on the floor when she'd left the docking bay to plant explosive charges...

She turned away from the dissolving arm and looked the other way, towards the hyperpod. No sign of his puddle there. She still had the satchel with Mark's and Jason's civvies, and she had the hyperpod, but she had no idea at all of how to pilot it.

And now that she could think again, she had to fight a wave of rising panic.

She'd set her explosive charges to go off in ten minutes, and that was already... she didn't know quite how many minutes ago -but too many! She had to get out of here -and _fast_ \- but she didn't know how to do it!

With a splat, a silvery mass fell from high up on the wall on one side of the bay and became a quivering puddle on the floor.

The male alien, she realized, had somehow oozed up the wall before or during her confrontation with the female alien and the Spectran soldiers. He must have somehow been able to trigger a mechanism in the secondary doors' controls, causing them to drop at just the correct moment to separate Princess from her attackers.

She ran over to the large, spreading puddle, staring down at it. She could see her own visored face reflecting back at her, and she could feel her heart pounding as she waited -hoped- for the male alien to form a face from the silvery goo and speak to her...

And tell her how to pilot the hyperpod -fast!

But even as the puddle quivered, no face formed.

Was he finally... dead? Had climbing the wall to save her been his last, dying effort?

It would be all for nothing if she now blew up along with this Spectran ship -and that could happen any moment now. Or were the Spectrans at this very moment finding and disarming her explosive charges? If the female alien had seen, on-camera, that Princess was in this docking bay, who knows what else she might have seen? She could also be on the other side of the secondary doors right now, missing an arm, insanely furious and about to cause the primary docking bay doors to open and vent Princess into the vacuum of space, no longer caring if she also lost the civvies and the hyperpod...

She was shaking, losing the fight against panic as she knelt beside the puddle.

"Talk to me!"

She glanced quickly at the hyperpod. She didn't know how to make it move or launch, but she might somehow be able to seal herself inside it. That would buy her time -and air- if the primary docking bay doors were opened by the female alien.

The arm, she realized, was now its own, far smaller, puddle of silvery goo...

An idea came to her... If the female alien was uninfected by whatever "denaturing impulse" she'd unleashed in the male alien, could Princess help him somehow by combining what... stuff remained from the arm with the male alien's puddle?

At the very least, maybe she could buy _him_ some time -that is, if he weren't already dead.

Hastily, she poked at the silvery puddle of the dissolved arm with her hands, finding that its matter stayed together in a single, slippery blob-like mass that she could just barely manage to hold without dropping. Before that could happen, she turned and tossed it into the center of the far larger and stiller puddle that was the male alien.

"Please let this do... something," she whispered. If not, she'd just have to initiate the primary doors' opening, get inside the hyperpod and then try to _somehow_ figure out how to get it outside of this ship and far enough away to survive an explosion.

The puddle had become larger, having absorbed the new matter from the female alien's arm, and was quivering.

Was it quivering from _more_ than just the impact with the arm-blob? Was it -was _he_... still alive?

Princess hadn't realized she was holding her breath until the familiar bland and generic face of the male alien took shape within the puddle, rising slightly from its surface.

"Help me!" she said with a gasp, "Please tell me how to pilot that hyperpod!"

"No time..." he replied, his face expressionless. "But you have given my matrix just enough power to..."

The female alien, she remembered with a shudder, had put memories -put knowledge- into her mind by grabbing her upper arm. No cloth covered her skin there. Could this male alien also transmit knowledge like that?

His silvery face still held shape, but he wasn't speaking. Hastily Princess pulled off one of her gloves and stuck her fingers into the edge of the male alien's puddle. He was even more liquid and slippery than the arm-blob had been. She tried not to grimace; his face was still looking at her even though he wasn't speaking...

She really need to get out of here fast!

And then she felt it, the same overwhelming feeling of sensory overload inside her head, but far less turbulent and it lasted only about half a minute.

She couldn't have put into words just how she now knew, but she realized that the knowledge was now in her mind.

She knew how to fly a hyperpod.

And then the male alien's face dissolved and vanished into the puddle. Its surface was utterly still.

He really was dead now. She was sure of it.

The banging noises from the other side of the secondary doors had stopped, she realized. When had that happened?

Indicator lights began flashing on a wall panel, and she could hear the sound of scraping metal...

The primary docking bay doors were being opened by the Spectrans, and the docking bay was about to become cold and airless space.

No time to lose! She pulled the satchel off her shoulder and lay it on the floor beside the puddle, praying that all the alien's silvery matter -his _matrix_ , wasn't that what he had called it?- would all hold together in a jelly-blob the same way the female alien's severed arm had. With her hands, she began pushing it all into the satchel, shoving it in around Mark's and Jason's civvies.

What did it matter? Weren't their civvies partly made of the same stuff anyway?

She had him all now, in the satchel, and she knew what she needed to know.

Even as a growing strip of black space became visible at the front of the docking bay, with a woosh of air being sucked out of the bay, she and the satchel were inside the hyperpod, she had sealed it closed, and she was running her fingers over a small area of the hyperpod's interior surface, initiating the hyperpod's power system by stroking just the right areas of flickering light and causing it to rise slightly from the floor and exit out of the now fully open docking bay, moving away from the Spectran ship.

But it wasn't moving very fast. It barely had any power...

0000000000

"Of course I don't own her!" snarled Mark, glaring at Jason. This was possibly the worst day of his life when it should have been the very best. But everything was going wrong, slipping out of his control, and he swore if Jason said _one more thing_ about Princess-

"Well, that's a start, at least." Jason was sneering at him.

"Don't you think it's any kind of 'start' for you!" The Commander of G-Force never yelled, but he was yelling today. He'd never punched Jason before either, but on a day as god-awful as this one, that was about to change too. He'd get rid of that sneer! He'd-

The door of their detention cell opened suddenly. Mark couldn't tell if Jason knew how close he'd come to getting his fist in his face; they both turned to stare at the guard who filled the doorway.

"There's a call for you," said the guard, looking at him and ignoring Jason. "It's that 'Chief Anderson' you've been trying to contact."

At last! He took a few deep breaths and found himself smoothing his hair with one hand; it was time to be calm and collected. He was going to need all the dignity he could muster (while wearing a bathrobe) to get through the upcoming conversation with Chief Anderson about the debacle that this mission had become.

"I'm coming as well!" said Jason, frowning at the guard, "I get my 'phone call' too, and he's also the one _I_ want to talk to."

Damn it, Jason -always having to be a pain in the ass!

Jason was checking that his towel was securely in place, though not bothering to button up his shirt, and looking expectant.

"The sooner we can deal with both of you, the better," replied the guard coldly, "The comm screen is this way."

Jason actually fell in behind Mark, letting him go first, as they filed into the comm room behind the guard. Mark found himself rather wishing he hadn't. He couldn't think how to begin to explain how and why everything had gone wrong...

There, on the large screen on the wall where he'd already spent too much time today talking futilely to Zark, was Chief Anderson.

But Chief Anderson wasn't in his office at Center Neptune or at the Federation Headquarters -the usual backdrops to on-screen conversations with him.

He was standing on the bridge of the Phoenix. Mark could see Tiny and Keyop too.

What the hell was going on? The Chief was practically never on the Phoenix. And he looked seriously pissed off.

For once, Mark wished Jason would talk -hell, do _all_ the talking here. He still couldn't seem to think of where to begin...

But it didn't seem to matter. As soon as Chief Anderson took in the sight of him and Jason, he did all the talking.

" _What_ is going on? A barrage of messages from Zark have just caught up with me here, and he's telling me that you're both under arrest for murder here at Spaceport Five! What the hell have you been doing? What part of 'undercover' and 'low profile' did you two not understand?"

He paused, but neither Mark or Jason replied. Mark couldn't even think where to begin, and wondering what on earth the Chief was doing on the Phoenix with Tiny and Keyop wasn't helping him to organize his thoughts.

He'd never seen the Chief scowling so fiercely. But he seemed to be mostly studying Jason.

"Jason, should I be asking _you_ what went wrong?"

Jason's eyes flashed. Oh hell, thought Mark, he was really going to talk now -and surely say way too much!

But even in the midst of his alarm, Mark was realizing that the Chief had said "here at Spaceport Five." Was the Chief actually _here_ too? Did he know where Princess was now? She wasn't on visible on the Phoenix's bridge.

Tiny cut in, before Jason could swallow his indignation enough to speak.

"Chief, that Spectran ship -it's just exploded!"

"Princess!" wailed Keyop, "No!"

Jason said it almost the same instant as Mark did.

 _"Where's Princess?"_

0000000000

Sitting in his chair on the Phoenix, beside Princess' empty chair, Keyop's heart was pounding.

Not Princess, not his _sister._ She couldn't be...

"What's going on?" He could hear Mark's voice from the screen up front where Anderson was standing, but Keyop was staring now at his own wrist communicator.

"Totally into smithereens..." Tiny was saying numbly.

"I'll... call her!"

Before anyone else could speak, Keyop was calling "Princess? Are... you... there? _Princess_?"

The few seconds of silence that followed were the worst he'd ever endured, but the joy that came from hearing her voice made up for it.

"Keyop? I'm okay-"

Sounds of relief came from all around Keyop. "Where _is_ she?" he could hear Mark and Jason asking, but no one was paying attention to them.

"But barely," continued Princess' voice, "I'm inside the hyperpod, and I know how to steer it, but there's debris everywhere and it's hard to avoid -I've barely got any power left!"

Hyperpod? Had the alien shape-shifter had used that word?

Tiny and Chief Anderson were both hovering over Keyop now.

"What's the heck is a hyperpod?" asked Tiny.

"I've seen one before," answered Chief Anderson, "I know exactly what she means. Tiny, get back to your seat."

Tiny reluctantly obeyed, even as Mark and Jason kept up a barrage of questions, apparently competing in a shoving match for the best view of whatever comm screen they were using. But they were being ignored.

"I have Mark and Jason's civvies -I got them back!" continued Princess' voice from Keyop's wrist communicator.

"Excellent," said Chief Anderson, before looking at Keyop and adding "Get a fix on her communicator's location."

As Keyop scrambled to obey, the Chief asked Princess how much control she had over the hyperpod.

"Not much," she replied, "I've so little power now, I'm really just drifting -and praying I don't collide with a big chunk of that Spectran ship."

"Got... her signal," said Keyop, the instant he did, "Not... too far away."

"I'll take over here," the Chief informed him, making hand gestures that unmistakably indicated he wanted Keyop to relinquish his chair (technically, Jason's chair).

Keyop might have resented this, except the Chief then added, "We need you to launch your buggy and guide the hyperpod back to the Phoenix's dome, so we can bring it inside. Tiny, head for the coordinates I'm sending to your console."

"Yes, come and get me!" said Princess, "And quickly -I don't have a lot of air left in here!"

Princess was the hero, and now Keyop himself would be her rescuer. Mark and Jason were still being ignored by everyone. There weren't too many missions that turned out _this_ way!

He almost strutted off the bridge... but that was too slow -a daring rescue demanded speed!

His dash ground to a rapid halt, though, as a thought occurred to him.

"Er," he asked Chief Anderson, "What does... hyperpod... look like?"

"You'll know it when you see it -it looks like nothing you've ever seen before," said Chief Anderson, "But I'll patch the tracking signal I've got here through to your buggy as well."

"On my way!" cried Keyop into his wrist communicator. Then he ran.

0000000000

It felt like a million years since she'd been on the Phoenix, thought Princess, looking around the bridge. But really, it had barely been two days.

A lot could happen in barely two days...

They were docked, once again, at Spaceport 5. En route, she had given Chief Anderson, Tiny and Keyop a concise ( _very_ concise when it came to what "memories" the female alien had put into her own mind) version of what had happened on board the Spectran ship, and then Chief Anderson had gone to see about getting Mark and Jason released from custody, and he'd ordered her, Keyop and Tiny not to leave the ship.

She didn't blame him -Spaceport 5 was nothing but trouble, and she'd seen enough of it for a lifetime! She would gladly stay here and rest.

She stretched out her legs, taking deep breaths. Her pulse still wasn't quite back to normal -too much adrenalin still in her system. But then, it was only about half an hour since she'd been guided to the Phoenix by Keyop's buggy and had been able to get out of the hyperpod, now that it had been lowered from the dome and brought inside.

Chief Anderson had been right there the moment she exited the hyperpod, staring at it with eyes almost aglow. He'd reached out, even, and run his hands over its exterior, rather as if he were measuring it

And she'd shown him the contents of the bulging satchel -Mark and Jason's civvies (jeans, tees, belts _and_ shoes) plus the large jelly-blob that was all that remained of the alien.

She had hardly known the alien, hardly even known _what_ he was, but he had saved her today, even as he was dying. Whatever he was, or had been, he had been... good. She would honor his memory.

Chief Anderson had been less somber and more... stunned, when he'd seen what she had. 

"Well done, Princess, _well done_ ," he'd said. "This... this will change _everything_."

Princess hadn't been sure what he meant, and hadn't had time to ask him. But now Keyop, more alert than her, sat up and turned his head towards the entrance to the bridge.

"Sounds like... they're back."

So soon? Princess hadn't gotten the impression that the Spaceport's security personnel were going to be so easy to deal with, but indeed, Chief Anderson strode onto the bridge.

And was followed, a moment later, by Mark and Jason -still wearing their respective bathrobe and towel, shoulders hunched sheepishly.

Keyop was chuckling, though making some attempt to hide it. Tiny was openly laughing at them.

Neither of them were looking at her, but rather only at their (bare) feet -she was grateful for that, as seeing them both now, with the memories the female alien had blasted into her brain still distressingly vivid, was making her face flush... with anger

Anger at the female alien. Anger at them. And so many other confusing emotions that she might well need days to sort out in her head...

Yet in that moment, some part of her couldn't bear to see them looking so wretched -especially at the hands of that damned female alien.

She stood up, announcing "Your civvies are in your lockers, in the back room."

Mark and Jason both fled the bridge almost instantly.

"How did you get the Detention Center personnel to release them so quickly?" Princess asked the Chief, "I mean, they were being held on suspicion of _murder_."

"Fortunately," the Chief told her, with a grimace, "This is Spaceport 5, so laws can be quite flexible. _Unfortunately_ , it requires a stupendous bribe to make this happen."

"How much money are we talking about?" said Tiny.

"I have already informed Mark and Jason how I feel about the amount," replied Chief Anderson, frowning in recollection, "That will suffice."

He then added, "And I have provided them with an outline of what events occurred while they were locked up as criminals and incapable of carrying out any aspect of the mission they'd been sent here for."

In other words, he'd chewed them both out thoroughly.

"They know... about the aliens, then?" asked Keyop.

"Yes, in short."

Did that mean, Princess wondered, that they'd been told about the aliens' shape-shifting and mimicking abilities? Were they each wondering now if it had really been Princess who'd visited their hotel rooms during the night?

And they could have no idea of just how much she herself -the _real_ Princess- now knew about all that.

"What... will we do with the... hyperpod?" asked Keyop.

Chief Anderson didn't answer immediately, but the frown faded from his face, replaced with... Princess wasn't sure what -hope? Excitement, even?

In that moment, Mark and Jason returned to the bridge, both now in their birdstyles. It was hard to see their faces beneath their visors, but she could tell they felt better; they weren't so hunched in contrition. Or being laughed at.

But Princess realized that she was going to have to talk to both of them, sooner or later, about everything that had happened. If only she knew exactly what she wanted to say...

 _Especially to Mark._

Chief Anderson seemed lost in thought now, not paying any attention to them as they both sat down in their chairs.

But soon, he looked around at all of them.

"It is time that all of you were told the full story of the connection between the aliens from the hyper dimension, and transmutation technology.

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	12. Chapter 12

Back in his chair on the bridge of the Phoenix, after what seemed like weeks but was barely a few days, Jason watched Chief Anderson closely. He'd heard enough today from Mark to realize how much he'd been in the dark about what was really going on with G-Force vis a vis the Federation. But then, en route from the Detention Center to the Phoenix, the Chief had told him and Mark a very terse version of what total bizarreness had apparently gone down in the space of a couple days at Spaceport 5.

It sounded completely insane -an alien from another dimension, stranded in this one, had stolen their civvies, presumably had murdered Agent Hannah, and had put her body in Mark's bed to frame him -but it was a story that the Chief seemed to have pieced together from things Princess told him, things the Spaceport Security officials told him, and some sort of mysterious intel only he had. Oh, and there'd been some other alien from the same place, except that one _helped_ Princess-

It was still all very frustratingly unclear to Jason. He'd have been complaining about this, were it not for the Chief's cold fury in the wake of having to bribe his two senior G-Force officers' way out of a jail cell they'd landed in for such sordid reasons.

Especially frustrating, and unnerving, was what the Chief had all-too-briefly mentioned about these aliens being shape-shifters who could both read people's minds and take on their exact appearances...

Princess. Had the Princess he'd been with the night before been an alien in disguise -not Princess, and _not even remotely human?_ It was sickeningly plausible...

This had to be the worst day of his life, thought Jason -humiliation from all sides and the awareness now that he couldn't blame this _all_ on Mark's history with Agent Hannah. Though Mark looked about as wretched as he felt, and no doubt he was equally grateful to be back in his uniform. Jason had never been more glad to have a visor that concealed most of his face, as it was surely mirroring the mess his thoughts were in.

He kept his eyes on the Chief and sat up straighter, trying to summon what vestiges of dignity he still had. The Chief was promising a "full story" about all the crap that had ensued in the last couple days and he was desperate for anything that might ease his confusion.

And this kept him from looking at Princess... Yes, it was easier right now to just keep his eyes on Chief Anderson, though he was all too aware of her presence on the edge of his vision.

If he had any scrap of comfort, it was that the alien shape-shifters were, according to the Chief, both dead. If he really had been duped by an imposter... -he shuddered- at least no one would ever know except him.

Really, he should have known without a doubt that it was too good to be true. Why would Princess ever want him?

0000000000

Five visored faces were all turned towards their Chief, all waiting to hear what he had to say. That was nothing new -a regular occurrence for many years- but now he was going to tell G-Force what he'd never told anyone except President Kane.

His heart was beating faster. Could it be... _finally_ , that the tide was going to turn-

Stay calm. One thing at time, they need to know it all...

"Twenty years ago," he began, "Well before the war, when Spectra was only just beginning to be a concern to some in the Federation, I was returning to Earth from a conference on Riga. Rigan intelligence and security personnel were already harboring suspicions of long-term Spectran plans for aggressive expansion -even against Federation planets- and they'd persuaded me that this was something I needed to make sure the right people heard at the Federation Headquarters."

"Wise people, those Rigans," said Mark softly.

"Yes, and one of Spectra's earliest targets," agreed Anderson, "I was travelling in a small ship, piloting it by myself, and I decided to drop out of warp for a while, and put it into orbit around the moon of an uninhabited planet in the Procyon system, so that I could work on summarizing and organizing the data and intelligence I'd received on Riga to make it as effective as possible. I already had Kane in mind as my first target -he wasn't 'President Kane' back then, of course, but though he was very ambitious I respected him as someone who valued the truth -even when it was certain to be unpopular."

"You told Keyop and me, earlier, that you'd been doing scientific research," noted Tiny.

More attentive than he often seemed, Tiny was, reflected Anderson.

" I _was_ also running some geological scans on that moon," he replied, "And the first rule in Security is to not reveal any more than is necessary."

"Yeah, and _some_ people love following rules," said Jason, but he seemed to be glancing at

Mark.

"Nevertheless, secrecy can outlive its necessity," continued Anderson.

Especially if _everything_ was about to change...

"What is significant is that, while in orbit around that moon, my ship's instruments suddenly began producing aberrant readings like nothing I'd ever seen before -with a radiation signature detected that was inexplicable -that is, until I saw _it_ -"

"A hyperpod?" asked Princess.

"Yes," he said, "Like the one we have on board now. It seemed to be drifting aimlessly, and I had no idea what it could be. I had just enough room in my ship's cargo hold, though, to bring it on board."

"Did you figure out how to make it open up?" asked Princess.

"Eventually..." said Anderson, "I'm guessing that you had help with that today?"

"Yes," she said, "And how to pilot one too -I would never have succeeded today without his help."

Yes, thought Anderson. Him...

"Once I did get the hyperpod to open, and looked inside, I saw there was a puddle of what seemed to be a liquid crystalline substance -but it was moving and flowing around the hyperpod's interior. I had never been so baffled in my life as to what it could be, but also never so intrigued -I could tell that there was somehow _purpose_ to the puddle's movement and shape-changes. And then, very suddenly, it began to flow directly towards _me_. I nearly fled the cargo hold in terror, but yet I didn't... I just had to know. I reached towards it instead, meaning to just touch it briefly but the puddle encased my hand. That made me panic -I tried to free my hand, but I couldn't -it wouldn't let go. And then my head became filled with... a barrage of incomprehensible ideas and images. I lost all sense of time-"

"He was reading your mind," said Princess, "And trying to communicate with you."

"This has happened to you too?" said Mark, now staring at Princess.

"To all of us, I think," she said, "Except Tiny and Keyop. Agent Hannah, in the disco that first night -I know now that she wasn't the real Agent Hannah. She was one of these liquid crystalline aliens, and anyone she touched, she could read their minds."

"Princess is correct," continued Chief Anderson, "All our memories and knowledge are stored in our brains, chemically, at the molecular level. These aliens, through contact, can decode and, in essence, 'read' our minds. The longer the contact lasts, the more they can read, but I believe that what they learn first is whatever is most recent or most intense in our thoughts and memories. I think that the substance they are made from actually mimics, or copies, the chemical structures they detect in our brains- the substance they are made from, it can actually become... _anything_."

"Even Agent Hannah -even _me_!" said Princess, scowling.

Mark and Jason both shifted slightly in their chairs.

"This alien 'Agent Hannah' that you encountered," said Chief Anderson, glancing at them and Princess, "She made physical contact with you while at the disco?"

"Yes," said Mark, with another shift, "She was, um... flirty, and at one point she had her hands on my legs, while I was sitting at the bar -before I could move away from her."

"The pants you were wearing were your civvies, then?"

"Uh... yeah," said Mark.

Mark seemed oddly uncomfortable -Jason and Princess too now seemed fidgety. What was _that_ all about? Meanwhile: back to the matter at hand...

"She touched me too," said Jason, "Later. She had a friend with her at the disco, a guy with dark hair and a thin mustache -he told me he had something 'interesting' that he wanted to sell. I made plans to meet him the next day and see it, but, uh..."

 _This_ was interesting. Chief Anderson quickly moved to a console and brought up an image of a man from the data archives -a man with dark hair and a thin mustache. He moved the image to a view screen.

"That's the guy!" said Jason.

"He seems familiar," said Princess, "Who is he?"

"His name is Barzok," Chief Anderson told them, "And you were all shown his image some months ago during that mission to prevent Spectra from polluting the waters of Federation planets with salt. Prior to his failure in that scheme, he'd been the key man in Spectra's inter-galactic slave system and heavily involved in espionage for the Spectran Empire. Federation Intelligence lost track of him after that-"

"How did you know, then, that he was guy I just met at the disco?" asked Jason.

"Because," said Chief Anderson, frowning in recollection, "I had to visit the detention center, to bail out you and Mark, and this entailed much discussion with the security personnel there. In this way I learned they had just discovered another murder victim, in addition to Agent Hannah -the _real_ Agent Hannah who'd been planted in Mark's room. They were pleased when I was able to both identify this new corpse for them and provide information on his background with Spectra. 'No one will care this guy's dead' was the classification he then received from the security personnel."

"So what Barzok had, that he wanted to sell -what you sent us to Spaceport 5 to investigate," said Mark, putting some pieces together, "Was it-"

"A hyperpod? Yes," said Chief Anderson, "It's the only explanation that makes sense. Let me continue to explain what happened twenty years ago. As I said, the liquid crystalline alien read my knowledge and memories, and used them to take on a human shape of a very generic-looking middle-aged man with silvery hair, and then he was also able to talk to me. That was how I learned that he was from an entirely different dimension, and that somehow his ship -the hyperpod- had torn through space/time and been stranded, powerless, in our dimension. His alien race, from what I could surmise, are all extremely ancient by our standards, but he is one of the very oldest. All knowledge and memories that they acquire, they never lose, as over many eons, they expand and grow their 'matrix' -that was the word he used for it- wherein it is all contained."

"And... you helped him?" asked Keyop, "He called you... friend, today."

"Yes, I drained the power cells of my ship till they were barely able to maintain life support, but I made it possible for him to relaunch his hyperpod to return to his dimension. I then had to issue a distress call and wait for a rescue ship from the Federation -all quite embarrassing, as I had to pretend to be an inept space-traveler rather than admit what I'd really done to drain my ship's power. But it was worth it in the end -so very worth it."

He paused, glancing around at the Phoenix and then at all five of his G-Force Team.

"Before departing," he continued, "The alien insisted on giving me a gift, to show his gratitude. You see, he gave me a piece of himself; he severed part of his very _substance_ and left it behind with me."

No one spoke at first, but then Princess did.

"It's in our civvies, isn't it?" asked Princess, "That how they're able to transmute -you used the substance in our civvies."

Now the others were all moving, running their hands over their uniforms, seeming both awed and appalled.

"That's why the other alien was calling me a thief," added Princess, "And trying to steal all of our civvies -she thought we'd somehow stolen them, murdered one of her fellow aliens."

"No doubt," said Chief Anderson, "Though she would also be able to increase her matrix, and therefore her scope for knowledge and power, but absorbing the substance from the civvies into herself and-"

"Is this," blurted Mark, "Is _this_ why there's only five of us? Did making our transmuting civvies use up _all_ of the substance?"

A wave of "aha!" ran through the Team. At last, they knew the truth...

"You now know what only I and President Kane know -yes," said Chief Anderson, "The substance from that alien is what made it possible for me to create uniforms that can transmute, always fit perfectly, repel bullets, and have capes that will stiffen during soaring and flight and then relax after. It's what makes it possible for you to achieve the whirlwind pyramid. It's what makes your vehicles able to transmute as well, and without the substance, the Phoenix wouldn't be able to become the Fiery Phoenix. Without the substance, none of it would be possible."

No one spoke; they were all letting this revelation sink in...

"And," he finished, "the substance is also in your cerebonic implants. I have to confess I don't truly know _how_ it works; it was a slow process of trial and error, in everything I created with it. I only know that when it works, it _does_ work. The speed and quality of the interface -requiring only thought- and the power you're all able to draw from your implants -that wasn't possible until I tried using some of the substance inside the implants. All I can say is that it somehow just _became_ what I needed it to be, even if I didn't know what that was."

"Wow," said Mark, shaking his head, "Let me see if I've got all this straight... So Barzok somehow found a hyperpod -the same way you did- and then he..."

"Most likely," said Chief Anderson, "And Agent Hannah might have been with him. Ever since I'd found a hyperpod, I've had Zark's monitoring beacons, all throughout space, set to search for the same energy signature that I'd detected when I first found the stranded pod. Just recently, I got a reading -sent solely to me- that the same energy signature had been detected near the Carinae asteroid field. This was followed shortly by some intel that someone was trying to sell something 'interesting' at Spaceport 5."

"And Barzok was," said Jason.

"Yes," said Chief Anderson, "It seems most likely that he discovered the stranded hyperpod-"

" _And_ the alien inside it," said Princess.

"I'm beginning to suspect," said Chief Anderson, "that the first person to make contact with the alien was Agent Hannah, though, not Barzok. Agent Hannah did very recently escape from Federation Detention Center #86, and she couldn't have done that without assistance. My guess is that Barzok was her assistance and he was bringing her back to Spaceport 5, outside Federation jurisdiction, when they discovered the hyperpod."

"So the alien became her -mimicked and copied Agent Hannah- and then..." said Princess, frowning.

"She was probably also the person who murdered Hannah too," said Anderson, "Barzok was found dead -shot in the head- inside a garage vault containing a small ship known to be his. The Spaceport security personnel said there was... unpleasant physical evidence that someone had been held prisoner in one of the storage lockers inside the ship's cargo hold for at least a few days."

"Poor Hannah," whispered Princess. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"The alien that I knew, he only ever seemed wise and one with deep integrity," said Chief Anderson, "But clearly this other, younger alien was of a far different character."

"So how did the Spectrans get involved in all this?" said Jason, "That ship that blew up -where'd it come from?"

"I must assume," said Chief Anderson, "That I was not the only one intrigued by the rumor that something 'interesting' was for sale at Spaceport 5, and that a Spectran ship also came to look into it. Many Spectrans would recognize Barzok and Agent Hannah (in this case, the alien posing as Hannah), and most likely she struck some kind of deal with the Spectrans to be able to leave Spaceport 5 and take her hyperpod with her."

"Someone like her," muttered Princess, "She'd fit in very well with them... So at the disco, she must have drawn enough knowledge out of Mark and Jason to realize we had civvies made with the... substance. That night, I don't remember anything after getting back to my hotel room and getting in the shower..."

She looked oddly sad for a moment, but continued.

"This morning, I woke up feeling groggy, like I'd been drugged -and there was a needle on my nightstand. And she was in my room -looking exactly like _me_ and wearing _my_ civvies."

No one said anything -Mark and Jason were still as statues- so she continued.

"I was able to sneak up on her and hit her hard enough in the head to knock her out. That's when I realized she had Mark and Jason's civvies with her too. I couldn't reach either of them using my wrist communicator, so I tied her up and went to try to find them. I went to Mark's room first, just in time to find security personnel taking Hannah's body away -they told me Mark and Jason had been arrested."

"So the alien posing as Hannah -or perhaps Princess- had been able to infiltrate all of your rooms?" asked Chief Anderson, "What kind of door locks did your rooms have?"

"Voice-activated," said Jason, looking very glum.

"And if she'd touched you at the disco," said Anderson, "She might well have been able to imitate your voices well enough to be able to fool the doors' locks."

Mark's shoulders were sagging slightly too. As well they should feel ashamed! This mission to Spaceport 5 had nearly been an utter disaster for the entire Federation.

"And I know now," added Princess, "How my look-alike that I'd tied up was able to escape from my hotel room -and she took Mark and Jason's civvies with her. She must have just... changed shape. There was a dead woman, missing her clothes, in my room's closet too. When I next encountered the female alien, it was in that luggage cart room where you and Tiny and Keyop found me. She looked just like the dead woman and she was wearing a hotel uniform. She'd managed to grab my arm and pull me in there; she had a gun and was going to shoot me."

"Didn't like... getting hit on head?" asked Keyop.

"She did _not_ like me, that's for sure," said Princess, clenching her hands, "She also still wanted my civvies -she called me a thief, and stupid..."

She briefly glanced towards Mark and Jason. They were looking at the floor, though.

"She would have shot me, I'm pretty sure, if the other alien hadn't suddenly appeared in the luggage room -he could teleport himself, just like how he got me on board the Spectran ship He got the gun away from her, but then she did... _whatever_ it was she did to him that left him dying. And then, it seemed like she suddenly knew how to teleport too -she disappeared, with Mark and Jason's civvies."

"But you got them back," said Tiny. "I think I was the first of us, this time around, to meet the alien guy. There was a guy on the Phoenix, back at Center Neptune, with silvery hair. He was dressed in a mechanic uniform but was poking around the controls for the fiery Phoenix. Not too long after that, President Kane suddenly showed up and wanted us to bring him to the Carinae asteroid field -except it wasn't really the President at all."

"Think... I saw a silvery-hair guy at... Federation Headquarters, before you," Keyop said, looking pleased, "He saw the Chief... in new vid, and said 'Anderson.'"

"If he was aware that one his own kind had been trapped in our dimension, as he had once been, I'm not surprised he came looking for me first," said Chief Anderson, "And if only I'd met him _before_ I left Earth, things could have been far simpler. But a mere handshake probably would have been enough for him to find the knowledge of my current whereabouts in Kane's mind and then later to take on his appearance to fool Tiny and Keyop into bringing him all the way out here."

"He was a hero indeed," said Princess softly. "He saved me at Spaceport 5 and again on the Spectran ship, saved me from _her_."

Her voice became harsher than Chief Anderson had ever heard it.

"I'm glad she blew up along with that ship!"

No one spoke; even Mark and Jason were still oddly silent, for them. Morose, really.

But Chief Anderson tried to recall the last time they or Princess had looked truly _happy_.

A long time... too long. The war had gone on for far too long, and they'd been far too young to become the senior officers of the Federation's elite combat team. His conscience had never let him forget that every time he saw the tension, the weariness, the bitterness, ever deepening in their eyes.

They'd been burdened with a near-impossible task, so much had been demanded of them -all five of them.

 _But now..._

"Everyone," he said, "You have to realize now how everything has changed."

He couldn't keep the excitement from his voice; they all looked up at him now.

"You see, there was only five of you because I only had enough of the alien substance for there to be five of you. Now, I have the substance of an _entire alien_ -not just a small portion."

"But... he's dead," said Princess.

"Yes, his knowledge and thoughts are gone -deleted, in essence- from his substance, his 'matrix.' But the substance of which he was made is still the very same substance that I had when he severed and gave a small piece of himself to me twenty years ago. I'm sure of it!"

Now they all looked stunned, mouths open.

"And," he continued, "We also have the hyperpod -I'm willing to bet that it's _also_ composed of the same substance, or at least partly composed of it."

"So," said Mark, "So..."

"What will this mean?" asked Princess.

"Yeah," echoed Tiny. Keyop burbled, eyes wide as saucers.

"Could there be more of us now -more than just the five of us?" said Jason.

Chief Anderson thought back to his earliest efforts, so many years ago, at creating a fighting force to defend Earth from Spectra. He'd been able to do it then; he would surely still be able to do it now -he remembered enough and had learned so much in the years that followed.

"I will be able to equip entire new G-Force teams -ships, vehicles, weapons, uniforms, cerebonic implants. All of it! Just imagine, say two or three new teams, tripling or quadrupling the effectiveness of G-Force. And that would just be a start. Jason, Princess-"

The second and third-in-command fixed their eyes on his.

"You might want to give serious thought to how you'll feel about being promoted to Commanders of your own new teams. You've got the experience, and you've earned it."

"Me?" Princess said, and for an instant she looked panicked. But only for an instant, then her face glowed...

Glowed with hope.

Jason was grinning widely. Tiny was laughing, saying "Wow," over and over. Keyop kept burbling.

Mark was quiet, lost in thought, but finally spoke.

"We're going to win the war now. _This_ will turn the tide -we can win, we're going to win!"

He stood up from his chair; then they all did.

"G-Force!" yelled Keyop, finally able to speak, "G-Force!"

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	13. Chapter 13

His car was stopped, its engine silent, but Jason still held the steering wheel, gazing down the track towards the setting sun that wavered in the heat rising from his car's hood, lingering.

Racing -even against only himself on an empty track- was an adrenaline high like no other he'd ever found -both euphoria and peace. And he'd been in severe withdrawal.

Too many back-to-back G-Force missions, and then Spaceport 5...

It had only been a day and a half since they'd returned from there, but what had followed was a manic whirlwind of activity fomented by Chief Anderson -hours of top secret meetings with President Kane and intense discussions of the future of G-Force, and the war with Spectra. Already he had a flood of required reading -dossiers on all the most promising and talented young officers from all branches of the Federation military, preliminary construction estimates, and tentative training schedules.

"Start thinking about the Team that you'll be leading," he was told, "And who you might want it to include. You will, of course, be closely involved in the training, post-implantations."

Jason let go of the steering wheel and relaxed back against his seat.

This was really going to happen.

The next six months or so was going to be _insane_ as all of Chief Anderson's plans came to fruition, but the end result would turn the tide. No more playing defense only -they would instead become the aggressors and take the war back to Spectra. See how they liked it!

But something else it all meant was that his chances to do any racing were pretty much going to dry up completely. When he'd had a chance to sneak away from Center Neptune today (Anderson having finally decided to _sleep_ , apparently), he'd seized it and had come straight to this track.

When would he be here next? He couldn't say. That hurt. A lot. But it would be okay. The tide was going to turn, and ultimately he would get his life back. And it would be a better life.

He didn't know what anyone else was currently doing. They'd all been swamped, just like him, since returning from Spaceport 5 and every discussion had been solely about the expansion of G-Force and all its implications.

Which was good in that it meant he didn't have to think about Princess -or more to the point, about the alien that he'd _thought_ was Princess.

That just made him feel sick.

He sighed, and opened his car's door. He'd get a drink of water, take a last look around the place, and then head back to Center Neptune.

But as he stepped out, the first thing he saw was Princess, walking towards him.

"I had a feeling you'd be here," she called out as soon as she was within earshot.

He didn't reply, instead leaning back against his car and just watching her approach.

The setting sun lit her up, gave her hair emerald glints as the wind tousled it. Her stride was smooth, graceful, strong.

He sighed again. But then she was only a few feet away and she stopped, looking down at her feet for a moment.

"This is unexpected," he said, keeping his tone blandly neutral-friendly, "What brings you here?"

Now she looked up and her eyes found his. She didn't look away, but she was clearly searching for words...

"I want you to know," she said finally, slowly, "That I know..."

Her discomfort was manifest in her stiff posture, the way she was pressing her lips together now. He couldn't stop looking into her eyes -so gentle and so fierce. But his stomach twisted as it dawned on him what she might know.

"I know about what that female did to you -with you," she blurted, "She had no right!"

She'd clenched her hands into fists and her words flowed faster, louder, "She stole from me -she stole _me!_ And the way she deceived you -that was-"

She almost spluttered, "That was despicable -both to me and to you!"

Jason had heard many a person refer to moments of wishing the ground would just open up and swallow them. Now he understood what they meant.

 _She knew._

But he was damned if he was going to look away from her eyes now -he would have to match her courage here with some of his own, and truth for truth.

"I'm sorry, Princess," he said, "I'm sorry that she _could_ deceive me -that I didn't realize immediately that something was just _wrong_ there."

Her face softened slightly. "She looked exactly like me."

"Yeah," he said, "But I still should have known-"

Damn it -he was staring now at his feet. _Look her in the face._

His turn to blurt.

"I should have known you'd never want me."

He stopped breathing, waiting for her inevitable reaction -pity- and telling himself sternly that truth was better than any placating lies.

But her eyes glinted, and a hint of a smile flickered on her lips.

"Don't sell yourself short."

Okay, that was _not_ what he had expected to hear. And Princess... was she now _blushing?_

"What did that alien tell you..?"

"On the Spectran's ship, she grabbed my arm, and she transmitted her memories of you into my head."

What!? _All_ of them? He spun around and took a step away. This was too much-

But she grabbed his arm and began towing him around to face her again.

"Don't be like this," she was saying as she steered him, "You have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about -and I know that. Vividly."

Exactly at the same time, they both laughed.

And Jason couldn't stop laughing...

It really was just too fucked up -what _was_ there to do, really, but laugh? Princess seemed to concur -she was still laughing too, resting her forehead against his shoulder now.

They stayed that way for... he wasn't sure how long, but you can't laugh forever.

Princess still had her face against his shoulder, but she spoke suddenly, her voice slightly muffled.

"She did it to Mark too."

He realized that Princess was still trembling slightly, and that it might not be all laughter anymore.

"Oh," he said, as the implications began dawning on him, "That's... a messier situation there, I guess..."

"Yeah," she said, and he could feel her sigh of warm breath. He put his arm around her, trying to think of something to say... His thoughts were all in a whirl.

"What are you going to do?"

"Not sure yet."

But Jason seemed to find what he wanted to say, even if he didn't quite understand why it was what he wanted to say.

"He has a hard time of it, as Commander. He's been under a ton of pressure, about the war -way more than he lets on."

Princess' face appeared again, searching his. "What are you saying?"

What _was_ he saying? Princess was still almost pressed against him, and he still had his arm around her. This wouldn't have happened, before Spaceport 5, and it felt good, and right, but...

"He loves you," Jason heard himself saying, "He totally loves you -always has- and that's the truth -trust me on that."

Princess was considering this, resting her chin now against him while gazing up at him thoughtfully.

"Has a funny way of showing it."

"Don't _you_ sell yourself short. Look... he tries to be this Captain Perfect _,_ and I think that screws him up. And it doesn't surprise me if he once caved to peer pressure -I don't doubt those Rigan Rangers were plying him with booze and goading him on."

Princess sniffed, but it looked to Jason like she was still considering what he was saying.

She pulled away from him now, saying "I need to get going -I told Jill I'd do the evening shift; it might well be my last time, tonight, working at her restaurant."

The sun was slipping below the grandstand now.

"Thank you, Jason," she said quietly.

"No," he said, "Thank _you_ -you didn't hide the truth from me and that means a lot."

She was walking away, but she looked back at him and smiled, and in that moment, aglow in the last rays of the day, she was so beautiful it hurt.

A lot.

But it would be okay.

0000000000

Mark hardly ever came to this construction sector of Center Neptune. It was a huge, high bay, full of harsh, intense glare both from the ceiling lights and the myriad of welding torches, the clang and clatter of hammering and hydraulic riveting machines, forklifts zooming around, cranes swinging pieces massive pieces of metal overhead, smelly fumes, and lots of voices shouting to be heard over it all.

Granted, it surely wasn't usually a sensory-attack of industrial activity on this scale, but nothing was usual around here anymore. Three -yes, _three_ entirely new Phoenix-grade spaceships were being constructed simultaneously in here. No word even on who was going to lead or crew the third ship (or when), but they were building it anyway.

Tiny had been striding around in the thick of it, pulling Mark along with him, grinning ear to ear and joking with the construction workers and engineers and asking all sorts of questions -he seemed to know them all and they him, so they got the full tour.

But Mark had soon found himself grubby, greasy, and overwhelmed by the noise and chaos -he'd fled instead up to the engineers' office area, where there was a large window of thick glass that permitted him to gaze down on it all from above.

He pulled off the (too big) hard-hat and protective jacket Tiny had given him, pushing his damp hair back from his face (and regretting it when he realized how dirty his hands were.)

He drooped into a chair, dragging it closer to the window.

This was better. As exhilarating as it all was, this sudden project that would dramatically expand the scope and power of G-Force, he found himself desperate to just be left alone so he could get some peace and actually think.

Well, not _think_ so much as _brood..._ about Princess.

In his mind, all he could see was the look on her face when she'd left the disco at Spaceport 5, after hearing everything "Hannah" had said. She'd held her head high as she turned and walked away but he'd seen her glistening eyes, flushed face, lips pressed together to keep them from quivering, and clenched hands -it had been all too clear that she felt deceived, betrayed, spurned...

He should have called her name, run after her right then and there... why hadn't he?

Because the Commander of G-Force couldn't be seen groveling? Because she might well have slapped him and made him look an even greater fool?

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, sighing. Since that night, he hadn't talked to her; sure, they'd sat in tons of the same meetings, but he hadn't _talked_ to her, alone.

But he had to, he needed to. He needed her to know that he understood how truly and deeply in the wrong he was here, and face up to the consequences of her knowing just what an idiot he'd been during his first trip to Spaceport 5, all determined that he, the _Commander_ , had to impress those damned Red Rangers. First, by drinking hard, and then by...

And as if that weren't bad enough, he'd gone and betrayed her _again_ at Spaceport 5! That hadn't really been Princess in his hotel room that night after the disco. How could he have _ever_ believed that Princess, after all that had happened, would come to his room in the night, tell him everything was perfect, and then-

He felt sick thinking about it. It hadn't been Princess; it had been the alien mindreading shape-shifter -the same one who'd been "Hannah" in the disco earlier.

But he knew why he'd believed it -because he'd _wanted_ to believe it. There was some part of him that had really thought that Princess could and should forgive him.

And, he loved her... so very much.

He sat up, pulling his chair closer to the window and resting his forehead against the glass.

In the most intimate situation possible, he hadn't been able to discern he was with an imposter instead of the real Princess -he'd ignored all the signs.

Surely _this_ was an even worse betrayal.

But at least it was one that Princess didn't know about.

He'd blabbed something to her, when she'd shown up briefly at the Spaceport Detention Center, about her having been in his room the previous night, but nothing more than that. She'd never need to know what _really_ -

Mark sat up suddenly, leaving a greasy smudge on the window where his forehead had been.

He was remembering arguing with Jason in the detention cell...

 _"I'm the Commander, for better and worse. I can deal with the 'worse' myself, so no one else has to."_

 _"I say that's one decision you don't get to make for us! And Princess, I don't think she appreciated being kept in the dark about you and Agent Hannah!"_

 _"You don't know-"_

 _"-Yeah, and neither did Princess. Let me guess, that was all for her own good and not just so you could keep stringing her along?_ "

Mark groaned, stood up from the chair and began pacing.

Here he was, about to do the very thing Jason had accused him of -believing that he alone got to decide who knew what, in the name of "protecting" them.

Maybe it was time to admit that Jason might have a point.

He walked over to the window again, looking down at the nascent Phoenixes below.

He would have to tell Princess _everything_. That was the only real and true way that things could go from here. He had no idea, though, where and how things would go from here. For so long, he'd tried to control everything but he couldn't control this, he couldn't control her, he couldn't protect her.

The metallic skeletons of the new Phoenixes were glowing in the light of the many welding torches.

Soon, Princess would be commanding one of those ships, in charge of her own team. She didn't need him -the mission to Spaceport 5 had certainly proven that. He would have to let her go...

Even as he felt the tears, he heard a door open behind him. A hasty rub across his eyes with one hand, and he turned around.

It was Princess.

She was in workout clothes, still with a sheen of sweat on her shoulders, neck and face. She was standing very straight, and her arms were relaxed but showing noticeably more muscle tone. She must have changed up her exercise regimen. She was taking her new role very seriously

"Tiny insisted I come see the beginning of construction," she said, gesturing with her wrist communicator, "And I thought I'd rather watch from here..." Her voice tapered off as she glanced around the office area, seeing that no one else was here.

This was it, Mark realized. They were finally alone, and now he could say... everything he needed to say. Princess was looking at him again-

And the door she'd come through moments earlier flew open again, and Chief Anderson was suddenly in the room too.

He and Princess were both staring at him. Had he just been _running?_ He seemed to be radiating energy these days, but now he looked about to burst with it.

"I thought I saw you heading this way, Princess," he said, speaking quickly, "And Mark, you're here too -excellent!"

"What's going on, Chief?" asked Mark.

"I don't have much time, I'm meeting with President Kane, and most of the Council, imminently," continued Chief Anderson, "But I wanted to pass on to you the latest report on Spectra from Federation Intel."

"What's happened?" asked Princess, "Has another of those aliens-"

"-no, nothing like that," said Chief Anderson. He finally paused and took a couple of slower breaths before continuing.

"Our Intel people," he said, looking back and forth from Princess to Mark, "They report that there is some very recent evidence of a power vacuum in Spectran high command and that key figures of power in the empire seem to be clustering now at the capital-"

"Does this mean-" began Mark, but Princess cut him off.

 _"Zoltar,"_ she said, her eyes were glowing though her words were soft, "Could he have been on that spaceship too when it exploded?"

0000000000

Chief Anderson had finally left the engineers' office area, and Princess almost felt dizzy with the implications of the latest intel about Spectra...

Zoltar was absent, missing. Dead? Could it be true? Chief Anderson seemed confident that he was.

 _Good riddance_ , she thought, but somehow she felt... let down. They'd all so long imagined Zoltar's downfall involving a dramatic face-to-face showdown with a heroic G-Force.

Maybe dreams never did play out in reality quite the way one hoped and imagined.

"All the signs point to it," Anderson had told her and Mark, "Zoltar's rule over the Spectran Empire has been ruthless and absolute, and his rivals' fear of him has kept them obedient but with no true loyalty to him, so they've kept their distance. But if they're all openly jockeying for power now at the Spectran capital, it can only mean that Zoltar is dead."

"And while they're all fighting over his crown," Mark had said, his face taking on Anderson's glow of enthusiasm, "No one is in charge..."

"A power vacuum," Princess had said. The imminent creation of new G-Force teams had buoyed her spirits, but she'd felt in that moment a new surge of hope. "Mala, Colonel Tu, other military commanders and the old Spectran nobility -while they're all duking it out-"

"It could take weeks, months even, for one of them to gain and solidify their power over the others. Zoltar has apparently never lined up an official heir -too worried about creating a focus for his rivals to rally around, we think, or afraid that an heir might get tired of waiting," Chief Anderson had said, "And in this intervening time, there'll be chaos and conflicting orders coming from the capital, the empire's military will surely be affected adversely by this."

Princess had looked then at Mark, even as his eyes found hers and surely mirrored hers, wide as they were with excitement and hope.

But then he'd looked away, his gaze quickly returning to Chief Anderson.

"And in this most opportune time for us," continued Chief Anderson, "the Federation will hit the Spectran Empire, _hard_ , and with G-Force -stronger than it's ever been before- in the vanguard!"

For the first time since the war began, Princess had thought, an end was finally, truly in sight. The tripling of G-Force would do more than turn the tide of the war -with the Spectran Empire currently in disarray, they would be a _tsunami._

But she'd known too, in that moment, that she had to talk to Mark, about... her and Mark.

And somehow that had felt more daunting than anything to do with the war.

But now was the time. Anderson had left, dashing off to his meeting with President Kane and the Council, and leaving her and Mark alone together -for the first time in many days.

In many ways now was not the time. She was sweaty and messy from the gym -possibly she even _smelled_ too- but she could feel adrenalin in her blood, giving her courage, and the way things were going these days, a better time might never happen.

Yet awkward silence prevailed, as they both stared at their feet. But Mark wasn't trying to leave, to avoid her, so that was something, at least. Maybe he too had realized that they _had_ to talk, sooner or later...

"Mark, I-"

"-let me go first," he said, "Please. I have to apologize..."

He raised his head and looked at her.

In that moment, she understood in a way that made it hurt to breathe, that only Mark had ever looked at her that way, like he was trying to paint in his soul a memory of what he was seeing.

Such longing and sadness in those blue, blue eyes, like the time he'd survived capture and the crash of the Spectrans' damned peacock ship and she'd ran to him out in the desert...

But that was so long ago. So many missions that followed blurred together in her memory now.

"I have to apologize for... Hannah, two years ago," he said, "At Spaceport 5 -I was an idiot, that was such a stupid mistake I made-"

He closed his eyes, "It's not an excuse -there is no excuse- but I want you to know that was the only time I ever..."

He was looking at her again. "That I ever made that mistake."

The words of the female alien came back to Princess, what the alien had said when she'd been training a gun on her in that luggage-cart alcove...

 _"That 'Mark,' he had only ever been with one woman, Hannah. Yet such_ passion _. Mmm..."_

Princess didn't need the words of a mind-reader, though, to realize that she believed Mark now.

"I was drunk that night, and being such a stupid jerk with those Rangers," he continued, "But I'm sorry I did it, and sorry that I hurt you. "

Princess had nearly stopped breathing and could only stare. The Commander, with all of his armor off.

How was it that she'd she never perceived just how much of it he really wore?

Jason's words, from the racetrack, came back to her...

 _"He has a hard time of it, as Commander. He's been under a ton of pressure, about the war -way more than he lets on."_

"There's more," said Mark, more quietly now, "That alien, at Spaceport 5, she came to my hotel room-"

He was holding nothing back, he was going to tell her _everything_.

Truth for truth, she owed Mark that.

"I know," she said, "And she looked and sounded exactly like me."

An edge of bitterness sharpened her words -she hadn't meant for that! But...

Mark had been still before, but now he utterly froze.

"What did she tell you..." he whispered, after a moment.

And now she had to tell the truth too. Honesty between them was the only possible way forward now...

"Everything -and she did more than just tell me, she put all her memories directly into my mind -she was taunting me, wanted to hurt me-"

"Hell, I don't want to know this!" Mark said, his voice catching as he started turning away from her, then stopping himself abruptly. His fists were clenched.

"You need to know that I know. Keeping it secret from you 'for your own good,' would be the same as lying."

His fists fell open, and his shoulders sagged.

"Of course, you're right..." he said.

She'd always heard that "the truth shall set you free." She hoped it was true.

"And learning that you couldn't tell me apart from her -even at a time like that. That's what really hurts here - _that_ hurts the most."

He flinched.

"I'm sorry -I keep saying that, but it is true, Princess. I wanted so much for it to be you in my hotel room..."

"All these years," she said, "And all these missions, but maybe we don't really know each other as well as we thought."

Mark pushed his hair back from his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.

"You must be right. What I believed was our first time together," he said, "Was entirely a lie."

He was beginning to turn from her. He was going to walk out of the room.

She could let him go -she _could_. But... no.

A couple of steps, and a hand on his shoulder.

"Mark."

He turned around and now his face was so close to hers -sweaty, somewhat dirty, but the face of the man she loved... and still loved. She couldn't lie to herself either.

She kissed him.

So softly, at first, but then her arms were about his neck, her fingers in his hair as his hands slid about her waist and they pressed close together...

Their first thoroughly real kiss -no holding back. Not what she'd always imagined, in the midst of a noisy construction bay, both of them sweaty with fatigue, dirt.

But it felt wonderful. And this was no lie.

"What does this mean?" whispered Mark in her ear, eventually, "We're not... over?"

"We've never really 'begun,' have we?"

He pulled back from her slightly, to see her face.

"I wanted... I just wanted everything to be perfect, Princess, I was waiting-"

"Nothing is ever perfect."

But even though they were both sweaty and dirty, in a stark, industrial room, and soon to be heading, separately, into battles that would end the war, her pulse was still racing, she felt aglow, and it was still wonderful.

He was still in her heart, just as he'd been for so many years. If she wanted to, casting him out would be so very hard...

She didn't want to. She still had hope, and still believed that he was the man who would love her best and that she would love best.

"We're not over," she said.

He smiled, and took her hands in his. "So what's the plan then, Commander?"

"We win this war. Quickly."

"Good plan," he agreed.

"The only plan."

"And until then..."

"Some more waiting."

They _had_ to end the war first. Only then could they learn how to be people -not soldiers, and not the propaganda vids' "Commander of G-Force and his lady comrade-in-war."

And she could tell he understood.

But he gave a wry smile, and squeezed her hands. "Spectra is _so_ doomed."

One more kiss, she decided...

0000000000

The End.


End file.
